


In the Dark of the Night

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: And I Do Not Make Them Nice, Canonical Character Death, Cato and Glimmer are Not Nice People, Dark, F/M, Not A Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6363367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss and Peeta aren't the only star-crossed lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Dark of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on fanfiction.net in October of 2012 when I was eighteen, and is now being crossposted here with all of my other work. I'm actually rather proud of this story and it holds a special place in my heart, writing errors and all.

_They're trained in a special academy… and then they volunteer… by that point, they're pretty lethal._

_Haymitch Abernathy_

* * *

 

You know you're special when people make bets on you winning the Games while you're still in the academy.

You know you're special when you can beat your teachers in close combat.

You know you're special when every girl in the academy wants to blow you just so that she can brag about it.

Cato knew he was special.

When he walked down the hallway of the academy, everyone moved out of his way. Everybody knew about his temper. It didn't matter if you were twice his size--you stepped aside.

Clove would warn him about his temper, like the time he flipped over the lunch table, sending food flying, before pinning the asshole that interrupted him to the floor and drove a fork through his hand. She'd sit there, watch everything, and then when it was all over fix him with that calculating gaze and say,

"Someday, that head of yours will get so hot it'll melt."

It wasn't the best analogy, but then, Clove wasn't the most poetic of people. Except when it came to knife throwing. It was beautiful and terrible to watch her throw those things without effort, burying them into a target.

Or someone's back.

A couple people made comments about him and Clove, but they shut up once they were nursing broken bones and ruptured spleens. She was four years younger, for fuck's sake. What was he, a child molester? Eww. Just… eww. No, Clove was his partner. They were going to be the best, and they were going to win the Games.

Of course, they would also most likely end up fighting one another to the death. But they'd deal with that when the time came. There can only be one victor.

When the time came for the Reaping, Cato caught her eye across the sea of people. They were going to volunteer. They knew it. Everyone knew it. Even the representative drawing names out of the bowl knew it. Oh, sure, they didn't know exactly which students would volunteer, but they knew they would.

To prevent a stampede of volunteers breaking out, there had been rules established. The promising ones went into the academy. They trained and then graduated. A final test was held of the best, and the one that emerged victorious got to volunteer. No ifs, ands, or buts.

Before he'd even entered the arena, he had already killed several men.

The representative--Paulie Valentine, a woman with hair as purple as the guy Cato had strangled to death--pulled out a name and read it off. The Peacekeepers hadn't even had time to move before Clove was shouting, "I volunteer!"

Her voice was high and sharp, that calculating, merciless tone that Cato knew so well. He smiled approvingly at her. He was an only child, as was she. Most people in the wealthier districts had just one child. They had just enough money to lavish attention on one--too many and they might as well be in District 11 or 12 for how fast the cash went.

If Cato were one to show affection, he would've said that Clove was like his younger sister. He certainly smiled at her as if she was, all proud and defiant, walking up onto the stage like she owned it. That was his girl, his partner.

Paulie read off a boy's name. Cato chuckled. The boy, Abel, had been one of his classmates. The kid couldn't wield a sword for shit. Cato stepped forward.

"I volunteer as tribute," he declared confidently.

Clove's eyes glinted and her mouth twisted up. He raised his eyebrows at her. They were on their way.

The goodbye with their families was quick. He didn't see Clove's meeting with her parents, but he knew what they would say. They would tell her the same thing his parents were telling him.

"You make us proud, Cato. You do your district justice," his mother said, resting her hands on his shoulders. Her strong façade broke for a moment, and her mouth wavered. "Come back home."

He didn't want to hug her, but she pulled him in and Cato saw the look his father gave him.  _Let your mother have this moment,_  it said. His father had been in the academy, in the top class, even, but hadn't made it. He understood. His mother hadn't--she didn't understand it, not completely.

His father clapped him on the back. "I'll be watching you win," he said.

Cato nodded. "Yes, sir." He would win. No doubt about that.

It was over quickly. Everybody cheered them as they ascended the train. The ride into the Capitol would be short. They'd pass through the mountains and then they'd be there. No sweat.

Cato stared out the window, Clove at his side. Her hands were at her sides, near her hips. Where her knives would be, if she were wearing them.

"Do we have a plan?" He asked her.

He would never tell anyone, and if anybody voiced it he'd make them eat their own guts, but he wasn't the best planner. He was a doer, not a thinker. Clove had the general's mindset, not him.

"An alliance," Clove said at once.

He glanced at her. "Are you insane?"

Clove shook her head. "I'm smart." She turned from the window to face him. "Think about it, Cato--everyone knows the Cornucopia is a bloodbath."

"A bloodbath that we'll survive," he responded.

Clove gave him that look that said 'shut up, moron.' "Doesn't matter. Point is, the other Careers will survive. Most weaklings will go, a few smart ones will run for it immediately, but District 1 will still be there. I don't know about you, but I'm not going to spend all my energy killing them and then chasing down the rats in hiding."

Okay, good point.

"So we work with them. Work as a team, flush out the tribute brats, and when it's down to us four we have a good-old fashioned doubles."

Cato grinned. He loved doubles.

"We kill them, and then it's just us," Clove finished. "It'll be a lot easier working with them, at least until the end, than being at each other's throats. We're going to win, but in the insane, tiny, one-in-a-billion chance that we don't, I'm not going to see a sniffling District 10 or something win because we got into a tussle with District 1 early on."

He nodded. "Okay, fine. We work with them. Form an alliance." He paused. "But what if I don't like them?"

Clove huffed. "Cato, you don't like anyone."

"Good point."

The Capitol could be seen in the distance. Cato grinned.

This was going to be fun.

* * *

Glimmer was bored. She was so bored, she felt like sneaking off with the yummy green-eyed boy who'd been staring at her for the last five minutes. The only problem with that was she was supposed to volunteer. It wouldn't do for Glimmer to be somewhere else when the poor, pathetic tribute was chosen--why, the reaped tribute might actually have to go into the arena! Or, even worse, have one of her classmates volunteer in her stead. They didn't deserve it. They weren't the star. She was.

She had beaten them in the honor fight. She had won the right to represent her district in the arena. It was her honor, her right, and she wasn't going to risk anyone stealing that from her. Glimmer was a star, and she knew it.

Cable Bobbin was the Capitol representative pulling the names out of the bowl. He'd been doing it for years, and was always a showman about it. He made the most of his part, and he was quite the favorite in District 1.

He reached in a green-skinned hand and pulled out the name.

"Sparkle Helios!"

Glimmer knew who that was. "Sparkly Sun," they'd nicknamed her. Well, to be more specific, Glimmer had nicknamed her that. For a wild moment she considered not volunteering, letting the girl sweat it out for a minute, but she knew the Peacekeepers would want to hurry things along and wouldn't give her the luxury.

She stepped out of the crowd, flashing her best coquette smile. "I volunteer as tribute!" She said, placing her hand on her hip and dipping her knees slightly. The Games were all about a show, and Glimmer was going to give them one.

As she ascended to the podium, she could feel the cameras on her.  _Hello, Panem,_  she thought.  _Like what you see?_

She knew they did.

"Let's give a hand to our courageous volunteer, Glimmer Celestine!" Cable said. The crowd cheered enthusiastically.

Glimmer gave her "cutesy curtsy." It was a little bob, with her left ankle dipping slightly behind her right, her hands splayed out while her shoulders gave a little shrug and her head tilted. That curtsy was always a crowd-pleaser.

Cable smiled at her, and Glimmer could see for the first time that his teeth had been tattooed. Tiny designs had been carved into them, with ink filled into the grooves, so that swirling patterns now permanently adorned his teeth. Cable moved on, sticking his hand in the boy's bowl, swishing it around for a moment before selecting a name.

Glimmer didn't even bother listening to whatever name he called. She knew who would volunteer, who had won the honor of representing their district in the Games this year.

"I volunteer!" The cocky, enthusiastic voice of Marvel Argentum cut through the crowd. He almost ran up, taking bounding steps up to the podium and pumping Cable's hand energetically. Glimmer kept her smile firmly in place (you're on camera, honey) but inwardly she rolled her eyes.

She made a note to emphasize to the interviewers just how easy it was to kill Marvel after she'd won the Games.

They shook hands, as was customary, and she shot him her best 'come hither' look, raking her eyes over him in a way that left no doubt as to her thoughts. Marvel's grin grew slightly.

He was just  _too_  easy. And she was going to spend a whole day on the train with him? Oh, whatever would she do?

Glimmer wasn't bored anymore.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, giving a blowjob was easy once you'd practiced enough. It was just like riding a bike, or learning how to properly stab someone so the knife penetrated deeply enough. Once you got over the gag reflex (pesky, but manageable) you were fine.

Glimmer had no qualms about it. Men had some stupid notion that blowing them was something submissive. They were wrong, as they were about most things. Glimmer hadn't met a man she respected, and she didn't think she ever would. It didn't matter. She much preferred it when she could manipulate people.

But back to the task at hand--or, rather, mouth. Rather than being the good, eager little slut they thought, Glimmer was the one in control. She held all the cards right now. She could rob him of his pleasure, hasten it or delay it. She could rip out his cock right then, kill him, even, and he wouldn't be able to do a thing besides drop his mouth open in shock. She had the power. She was in control.

She loved it.

Marvel gave another loud moan, and then swore. Glimmer rolled her eyes. She'd been hoping to keep their little activities from the trainers, but at the rate he was yelling, everyone on the train would know by now. Talk about being a loudmouth. He writhed underneath her, his face flushed and sweaty. She'd been keeping him on edge like this for the past five minutes. Glimmer almost chuckled. Poor boy wouldn't be able to keep up much longer. Men had no fucking stamina.

She'd let him come soon. And then she'd let him fuck her. She'd ride him hard, on top, giving him the view she knew that he wanted. She'd fake the moans and squeals, and hopefully get some measure of physical pleasure out of it. But the physical wasn't her goal. Oh, no. Her goal was much deeper. She was going to find out everything about Marvel--pick him apart, piece by tiny piece. His hopes, fears, weaknesses, strengths… it would all be hers. And when she was done, she would know exactly how to kill him.

Not too shabby for the price of a blowjob.

* * *

Cato looked down at this outfit. He was decked out in gold, looking like some kind of ancient warrior. He thought it was ridiculous.

"I look like I belong in one of those cheesy action films," he muttered.

Clove tossed her hair back. "Our stylists are some of the best, Cato. They know what the Capitol wants to see. It's all about the image."

"Yeah, and the image we're projecting right now is B-level actors," he argued, looking down at his--what was it called?--gold-plated-skirt thing. "If my dad saw me right now he'd think I was a morphling."

"Well he will see you, and he'll think you look magnificent," Clove said. Her mouth barely moved, as she was letting one of their stylists apply more liquid eyeliner to her. "Now stop being a girl and look fierce."

"I'm going to kill you for calling me that," he joked. It was always a joke between them. If one of them insulted the other, it was always the threat they gave. It would have been light but for the fact that someday one of them would make good on their promise.

Clove sighed. "We're supposed to be Roman gods, Cato. You're Mars, god of war, and I'm Minerva, goddess of war… and wisdom." Clove preened slightly at that last part.

War god? Okay, he could work with that. He was certainly worthy of the title. He'd killed seven already and he was only eighteen. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. Yeah, god of war… that would be what they would call him after he'd won the Games. Cato, the god of war, winner of the 74th Annual Hunger Games!

If only he didn't have to wear a fucking skirt.

"Okay, you're ready!" Stated Flutterby, Cato's stylist. Gonerail, Clove's stylist, clapped her hands together happily. She gestured for them to climb up into the chariot. Clove did so, her head high and dignified. Clove was always dignified, no matter what she did. Cato admired it, but he could never copy it. He had too much fire in his blood for that.

He climbed into the chariot, still feeling ridiculous. He glanced over at the other chariots. District 1 was in front of them in a dark pink chariot, their chestnut horses snorting impatiently. Their backs were to him, so Cato couldn't see their faces, but he saw enough of their outfits to be immediately grateful he didn't have their stylist.

They were wearing feathers. Pink, fluffy feathers. It kind of made him want to vomit.

The boy tribute turned to the side and glared at the back of a man with spiky orange hair. Cato guessed that man was the stylist, and he chuckled to himself.  _Grin and bear it, bro,_  he thought gleefully. His costume didn't feel so silly now.

The girl tribute must have heard or sensed him somehow, because she turned to look at him. She was wearing some kind of insane feathered headdress, but her eyes pierced him. They raked up his body before meeting his.

She winked at him and then turned to face the front again.

Cato blinked, surprised. Did she just…?

He shook it off and looked around at the other tributes. Districts 3, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10 were all ignored. They were easy pickings, every one of them. Everyone wore something that represented their district--usually a stylized version of work outfits, and that included District 4. If Clove wanted an alliance, they would probably need those two, as well. He nudged Clove and pointed to District 5.

"What the hell are they supposed to be?" He whispered.

Clove's eyes gleamed. "Power plant workers."

"I didn't know that power plant workers wore sparkles," se laughed.

"They don't," Clove replied.

Fourteen years old, and she still couldn't take a joke. He remembered the time that he'd replaced her real knives with rubber imitations right before class. She had been so pissed at him. Well, pissed enough to pin him and carve "asshole" on the sole of his foot. It was the most logical place, she had replied when he'd asked. She would know it was there, and he would know it was there, but no one else would. He'd be spared humiliation, and she'd have her revenge.

Ah, good times.

Clove nudged him, and then jerked her head towards the back of the line. Cato followed her gaze and frowned. "Why are you looking at District 11?" He asked. The big guy looked intimidating, but nothing that Cato couldn't handle. The girl… he gave her five minutes, tops.

"Not them, idiot. District 12," Clove said, her voice low. Cato looked and got his first glimpse of them.

There was the boy, blonde, stocky but with a face that was far too kind for the situation he was in, and the girl. Cato grinned. She was definitely fuckable. He didn't like the look in her eyes, though. Sullen, yes, a little fear, yes, but also an inner spark of… something. Something he couldn't quite place.

Cato hated it when he couldn't understand something--hence, his abhorrence to math.

"She's one to watch out for," Clove warned him.

"Great," Cato said sarcastically.

"We'll have to make sure to kill her first thing," Clove decided. "She's the wild card, and wild cards need to be eliminated."

Cato shrugged. "If you say so."

"I do say so," Clove replied. She turned and looked up at him. "Stop staring at her!" She hissed, lightly slapping him.

Cato looked away.

"She can't know we're onto her," Clove explained.

The music started, and the chariots began to move.

"Try to look triumphant and mighty," Clove said. "And for the love of God, no smirking."

"Hey, people like my smirk."

"It's cocky."

"It's self-confident."

"You look like an asshole."

"I look sexy."

The roar of the crowd stopped their bickering, and they turned to face the front. Clove didn't smile but simply stood regally, surveying the screaming Capitol dwellers like a haughty queen. Seeing that she wasn't looking at him, Cato turned to face his side of the crowd and smirked.

Several people cheered at him. He widened his grin, standing tall and strong. People loved him. The minute this ridiculous thing was over he was going to tell Clove 'I told you so' until she threw a knife at him.

* * *

Glimmer carefully shifted her stance, trying to focus on something other than her aching feet. She was used to makeup, sexy outfits, and all the rest, but not the high-heeled shoes. The Capitol had strict rules regarding fashion in District 1 in order to avoid being outshone. Any shoes with heels over half an inch in height were on the forbidden list, along with tattoos, skin dying, and wearing clothes that were in season in the Capitol. The list went on, but Glimmer didn't bother to think about it. The problem was these four-inch heels that were thinner than the waists of those District 12 waifs. She was likely to topple over if she so much as took a step.

At least her stylist had been nice. Her name was Cody, and although she was dressed in the "Native" style (a new fashion wave that was growing in popularity, which basically involved dressing in an outrageous version of ancient tribes), there was something very genuine and simple about her. Although the experience of waxing and all wasn't pleasant, it had gone much more smoothly--no pun intended--than she had expected. It helped, of course, that Glimmer already shaved on a regular basis.

Glimmer heard a chuckle behind her. She turned and met the eyes of the boy from District 2. He was clearly laughing at their outfits. She wanted to glare at him, or maybe even stick out her tongue, but she had long since learned to control her emotions. Use them, and not let them use her.

Instead, she took stock of him, her eyes sweeping over him. She lingered for a minute on his legs. The toga he was wearing wasn't particularly long, and she had a lot to look at. His gold chest plate showed off his broad shoulders and chest, and Glimmer had no doubt that there was plenty of muscle underneath the getup.

Her eyes met his again, and she winked before turning back to face the screaming crowd. If all the tributes were like him, she'd have plenty of fun before this whole thing was over. Being at the front of the line, she couldn't really see any other tributes without turning around and craning her neck, and she wasn't about to waste time doing that, especially in this deceptively heavy headdress. She could afford to wait until morning.

The chariot moved and the parade started. Plastering her modest-yet-gorgeous smile (perfected after hours of practice in the mirror) to her face, Glimmer waved graciously at the Technicolor crowd.

* * *

That night, two conversations of a surprisingly similar nature were held on the first and second level of the building that housed the tributes.

"You have got to be fucking me."

Cato threw an apple across the room because it was on the table and convenient. He wanted to smash a lamp or something but he didn't know if that would get him in trouble. Paulie, their spokesperson, spent most of the day engaged in a heated rivalry with District 12's spokesperson, Effie Trinket, but he couldn't be confident that she wouldn't find out.

He turned to Clove. "Fire. Those fucking assholes were on  _fire_! What the hell?"

Clove was sitting on the couch, her back ramrod straight, her hands resting on her knees. "Calm down, Cato. This isn't even a temporary setback. They stole the show–"

"Exactly! They're from 12, Clove. 12! Don't they know their place? They live in those filthy mountains mining filthy coal, and they're going to die in the first fifteen minutes of the Games–"

"Precisely," Clove said soothingly. "They're going to die, Cato. Just because they made an impression doesn't mean that they can uphold it. They lucked out on a stylist, that's all. Tomorrow the Gamemakers will get to see just how pathetic they are, they'll get a low score, and no one will sponsor them. You can't pitch a fit over every little thing."

"I'm going to get them for that," Cato growled.

Clove sighed. "Someday, your temper will get you killed." She stood up. "I'm going to bed. Training starts tomorrow. I'll see you then."

Cato flopped onto the couch. "See you tomorrow," he muttered.

"Get some sleep!" Clove called over her shoulder.

* * *

Meanwhile, on level two…

Glimmer threw a lamp against the wall with a satisfying crash. The shards of china lying on the floor brought her a sense of smug satisfaction. She imagined bashing in the head of the District 12 girl in the same way. She shivered delightedly.

"You really shouldn't do that," Copper warned. She was one of their mentors.

Since 1 and 2 won it almost every year, sometimes there were more than two victors available to be mentors. In such a case the victors drew straws, and the two that won were the mentors for the tributes. This year, Copper and another female victor, Diadem, had won. Glimmer had always admired Diadem immensely; she was so dignified, and powerful, and had won the games in less than three days. Glimmer had been disappointed when Diadem showed no interest in her other than to reprimand her. Still, she was glad that Diadem wasn't around to see her temper tantrum.

"I don't care," Glimmer said, tossing her head back. "Those snotty mountain brats showed us up. Us! District 1! We make jewelry, for crying out loud. We're the stars, not some coal minor's children."

"They had a new stylist, someone that had never done the Games before," Copper said, trying to soothe her young charge. "They gave him 12 because he was new, because he could be a hit or miss and they didn't want to risk it with the more important districts. They lucked out, honey, that's all."

Glimmer felt rather like growling and stamping her foot, but that would get her nowhere.

"Go on up to bed, darling. You'll need your beauty sleep." Copper was clearly in favor of her charge's chances of winning, and was honestly rather in awe of the gorgeous, popular young tribute. Copper was from District 1 but had never been the pretty girl, the likeable girl. In fact, her mates at the academy had cheered when she'd volunteered, because it meant they'd be rid of her. Someone they didn't like being top of the class? It was unbearable.

For Copper, representing her District hadn't been so much of an honor as a weight on her shoulders, suffocating her. But Glimmer was different. Her district wanted her to win. They liked her. And Copper liked her, too.

Glimmer huffed but went up to bed as told. In the morning, she'd get to view the other tributes, and then she'd work her magic.

She was the star. She was going to win.

* * *

Cato lay in his bed, listening to the wild cheers of the Capitol residents out in the plaza. He supposed that, for an unprepared tribute, the cheers would be terrifying. He found them exhilarating. By the end of the Games it would be his name they would cheer.

Would some try to end it? Commit suicide?

He thought about it. There were no weapons, nothing sharp anywhere in the apartment. There was a rooftop garden thing, but there was a force field around it. He chuckled to himself and rolled over. No, the Capitol wasn't about to let any tribute escape. They had to have their Games.

He would never do it. It was cowardly and weak. What would it say of his district? He would shame them. That was something none of the outlying district tributes understood. They were representing their people! They should be proud! Did they not see the honor bestowed upon them?

They were stupid hicks, every last one of them.

Still chuckling to himself, he fell asleep.

* * *

Glimmer lay in bed, unable to sleep. She knew it shouldn't bother her, but the Avoxes were unsettling her. She kept having these weird visions of them creeping into her bedroom once she was asleep. She shivered.

Of course, this wasn't possible. They'd be subjected to horrible tortures if they even thought of doing such a thing. That thought comforted her a little.

Did they have relationships? Their tongues were cut out, but that was the extent of Glimmer's knowledge. Silent slaves.

Were they allowed to interact? How did they communicate with one another? Did they use their hands? Did some have relations with Capitol citizens?

Glimmer rarely thought about anyone other than herself. If she was this focused on a group of people--punished criminals, not less--then she must really be nervous.

Shaking her head free of those dark thoughts, Glimmer forced herself to go to sleep.

Her dreams were filled with silent ghosts. No matter how she screamed, no sound came out. She woke up in a cold sweat.

* * *

"In one week, twenty three of you will be dead…"

Cato let the words of Atala wash over him. She was the Head Instructor of the Training Center, and had been for the last ten years. She'd known all of the tributes that had won and died in that time, and probably knew exactly what each of the dead ones should have done differently in order to become the victor. He really should be listening to her, but he'd heard speeches like this one throughout his time at the Academy and he was much more interested in sizing up the other tributes. He glanced over at the girl from District 12. She was listening to what the woman was saying, but kept glancing at the others, taking them in. Their eyes met, and she looked away, disconcerted.

_That's right, bitch. Fear me._

Clove elbowed him discreetly and he went back to pretending to listen to the instructor. She finished her speech and indicated for them to line up for the compulsory exercises. Cato grinned. Time to show the others what they were in for.

He heard a giggle, and turned towards the sound. The blonde girl from District 1 was biting back laughter at something. Without the feathers, he could actually see her face. It was wide, with a large, smiling mouth and glinting brown eyes. She had full cheekbones and her honey-colored hair framed her face well.

He didn't realize that he was staring until the girl looked his way. To cover his embarrassment, he sent her his best smirk.

The girl shook her head a little, as if to say he could do better than that. Her eyes danced, and then she whipped around to get in line and was gone.

What--was he not good enough for her or something?

"Are you okay?" Clove asked. She was scrutinizing him carefully.

"I'm fine," Cato replied, trying to shrug it off. "That District 1 chick irritates me, that's all."

"She irritates you," Clove said slowly, looking over at the blonde girl. She was peering over the shoulder of the redhead from District 5, saying something. The girl started a little, but kept concentrating on the knot she was tying. The blonde giggled, happy to have gotten a reaction.

"We need her," Clove pronounced. "So play nice, okay?"

Cato growled. He hated playing nice. Clove patted his arm reassuringly. "Don't worry. You'll get to kill her in just a few days. Now go do the compulsory exercises so that we can get to showing the Gamemakers our skills."

"You can't tell me what to do," Cato mumbled, still glaring at the blonde girl. She was now animatedly chatting with the redhead, who kept blinking and smiling bashfully. What the hell was this chick up to?

"Yes, I can. It's not like you listen, though." She grabbed his arm. "Come  _on_ , Cato," she said, her voice taking on that sharp warning tone.

Thinking about how he was whipped by a fourteen-year-old, Cato followed his partner through to the back of the line.

* * *

Glimmer surveyed the other tributes, checking them off quickly. She had already dealt with Marvel on the train. He was arrogant, cocky, all about fun and being the life of the party. He'd be putty in her hands when she needed him, and easy to kill when she didn't. Now, she had to evaluate the others.

District 2 was promising… very promising. Glimmer could see that the girl was a stone-cold killer. She'd have loved to get past the girl's defenses, but she was fourteen. Glimmer only did sixteen and above. However, she also looked like a know-it-all. Glimmer had a feeling the girl would be insufferable.

The boy, on the other hand, was nothing short of hot. Glimmer wanted to eat him alive. He had a chiseled, confident face that held the hard, cruel look that just made her melt. What could she say? She loved bad boys.

Always a good girl, Glimmer decided to save her dessert for last. She moved on.

District 3? Hah. The girl was only fifteen and looked like a bowl of bland oatmeal. The boy was only twelve, and was as thin as a minute.

District 4 was promising. They were both Careers, thank goodness, and so in good shape. She liked a partner that could keep up. The girl was sixteen and the boy seventeen. Perfect.

District 5? Well, the boy was too young, twelve, and had one of those freckly faces that she hated. Glimmer hated kids in general. She was never having the little monsters if she could help it. The girl, on the other hand, was interesting. Glimmer supposed that she could be considered beautiful, in an odd way. Her face was reminiscent of a fox, in a way that was unique and certainly made you want to keep looking at her. Intrigued, Glimmer decided she would be her first in this project.

Districts 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10 were all disappointments. They'd all be gone in the starting fight, anyway, and none of them were attractive enough to be worth her time. Half of them were too young, anyway.

District 11 had another little one, a girl this time. Glimmer rolled her eyes, inwardly. The sooner these little brats were gotten out of the way, the better. The boy was immense, strong and close to six feet, but Glimmer decided against it; too much muscle and not enough sex.

That left District 12. Glimmer eyed the two bastards that had shown her up in the tribute parade. The girl was positively yummy. Glimmer wouldn't have minded dragging her into a nearby closet. Unfortunately, Glimmer could already tell the girl wouldn't go for it. Something tugged at Glimmer's thoughts. Oh, this was the girl that had volunteered for her sister, hadn't she? Stupid bitch. All focused and ready to make your family proud, huh? Awww, how sweet.

It made Glimmer feel a little sick.

The boy wasn't too bad looking. He was on the short side, but still taller than she was. He had nice blonde hair and gorgeous eyes. He had well-defined muscles and was certainly in shape, although she doubted he'd be a good fighter. Still, he might be worth a fuck…

Wait.

Wait just a minute.

What the hell?

Glimmer watched the boy carefully. He was paying close attention to the instructor but kept looking over at the girl from his district. The look on his face might have confused the casual observer, but Glimmer was not. She knew how to read people, knew how to see and use and manipulate emotions, and she knew exactly what that boy was feeling. He was in love with the girl from his district!

What an idiot.

Well, that certainly ruled him out. Glimmer was not touching that drama. It would take her forever to convince him to go with it, and then there would be guilt afterwards (and, maybe, tears--she'd seen it happen), and all the rest of it and she was  _not_  about to play that game. God, no.

So that left District 4, the girl from District 5, and last but by no means least, the boy from District 2. Glimmer shivered delightedly.

Time for her games to begin.

* * *

Glimmer bit her lip so hard that it bled to keep from babbling. For a first-timer, this girl was fucking good at what she did. Those lithe fingers moving inside of her, working her… so fucking  _good…_

Her climax hit her like a smack of cold water, unexpected and breathless, freezing her body for a minute before sending her into a fit of trembles. She heard a sly chuckle from her partner, who was obviously pleased at her newfound abilities.

Glimmer rolled off of Benji, their chests heaving. Sweat was sliding down her body, but she didn't care. One of the advantages of being with a girl was that she wasn't as self-conscious about herself, because she knew the other girl was going through the same thing and felt the same way.

Benji Edison, the fox-faced redhead from District 5, definitely had more to her than met the eye. It was always the quiet ones…

"Not too bad," Glimmer smirked, rolling onto her side so that she could look at the younger girl.

Benji almost smiled, her eyes softening and gleaming at the same time. "You can't think of a better compliment then that?" She asked in her dry, factual tone. Everything was said in a clipped, professional voice. She sounded liked some of Glimmer's instructors--the boring ones.

"I tell it like it is," Glimmer said sweetly.

Benji's eyes were definitely gleaming now. "When it suits you," she replied.

Glimmer raised herself up, propping herself up on her elbows. "You're too clever by half," she pronounced.

Benji set about fixing her hair, which had become plastered to her face during their activities. "Nice of you to notice," she said calmly.

There was a pause as they sat there, letting the sweat dry on their bodies. It was Glimmer who broke the silence. "You're going to die, you know."

Benji smiled softly. "Is that your way of saying you're going to kill me?" She asked.

Glimmer laughed. "No. I mean what I said. You can't wield a single weapon."

The redhead shrugged. "Maybe I'll kill them some other way."

But Glimmer knew she was lying. Benji was the smartest of them all, of that Glimmer had no doubt. If they had to pass an exam to get into the Games, Benji would have the top scores. But while the girl was undoubtedly a survivor, she was not a killer. And that was the weakness that Glimmer was looking for. This was the reason she was getting with her. Everybody had a weakness, and that was Benji's.

Information gathered, Glimmer stood up and began to gather her clothing. She was certain that spending too much time with Benji would earn her a knife in the back.

"So soon?" Benji asked, her mouth twisting into a knowing smile.

Glimmer almost felt sorry for the girl. Almost. The girl used three-syllable words, for crying out loud. She had undoubtedly figured out what Glimmer was up to, what her game was. But she hadn't called her out on it.

It suddenly struck Glimmer that perhaps it was because she didn't want it to be true.

"I have to get back before anyone notices I'm missing," Glimmer said, flashing a flirty smile. They both knew it was bullshit, but neither said anything. "I have to look good for the Gamemakers tomorrow. First impressions, and all. My parents expect me to get at least a nine."

She glanced back at Benji, who was still lying on the floor, gazing up at her. The moonlight made her porcelain skin glow.

"What about yours?" Glimmer asked, desperate for this not to end on an awkward note. She hated awkwardness.

"If they can see me, they're looking down." Benji shrugged.

Oh.

"Nobody will be watching the alley-rat from District 5," Benji said quietly.

Well, that explained the wily nature. Glimmer put on her most dazzling smile.

"I will." She winked.

Benji seemed surprised, but before she could gather herself Glimmer hurried off. She didn't usually pity people. She didn't really think about others enough to pity them. But she let Benji have that. Let her think she mattered. It did her no harm. And when Glimmer killed her, she'd do it in the most fantastical way possible.

At least when she died, people would watch.

That night, Glimmer's nightmares returned.

* * *

The training was fun--the instructors and trainers here were nothing like the ones back home. Cato had thought he'd been trained by the best of the best, but now he knew differently. These people were the best. They pushed him to his limit, testing to see how far, how fast, how hard he could go. And the best part was they refused to teach him anything. This wasn't about being mollycoddled or learning new moves. He had to figure it all out on his own, the way he would have to in the arena.

He was having the time of his life.

Clove was enjoying it, too. He could see her pestering the trainers for more information, thinking up strategies. She would rope him and the other Careers together and force them to participate in team maneuvers. No official alliance had been made yet--he was leaving that up to her. The problem was, every time that he asked her about it, she would tell him to wait. Patience was definitely not his virtue.

Not to mention that blonde chick from 1 was really, really starting to piss him off.

She was hands-down the hottest piece there. Every time she bent over--to pick up a weapon, tie a knot--his eyes kept getting drawn to her ass. And while she couldn't shoot an arrow for shit, she sure looked damn fine doing it. Every time she looked at him, it was like she wanted to eat him alive, and it sent heat shooting through him.

But every time, every fucking time he tried to talk to her, or anything, she played coy. Did she want to do this thing or not? Seriously? He wasn't the type of guy who chased after girls. Girls came to him, damn it! Not the other way around!

Fuck this.

The problem was he wanted to fuck  _her_.

Cato dealt some particularly vicious blows to the dummies, taking his frustration out on them instead.

* * *

Glimmer bit her lip to hide her delight. Cato was just so hot when he was angry. She could have watched him wield a sword for hours. She grinned, her eyes gleaming as he cut a dummy's head clean off.

The one snag in her plan was that he wasn't coming to her. She'd been playing coy, letting him know that she wanted him, and waiting for him to make the first move. Unfortunately, he wasn't taking the bait.

She blamed it on the stupid academy girls. You bimbos--if you keep blowing them whenever you feel like it, you make them spoiled! God! He probably thought propositioning a girl was beneath him. The whole 'I'm the god so you come to me' thing. Ugh.

Well, two could play that game. Glimmer was the star, the bombshell, not him, and if he wanted a piece of this, he had to come and get it. She just had to find a way to make him come.

Ha, ha… come… that's what she said. Ha, ha.

As Glimmer waited patiently (okay, semi-patiently), for her turn on the high climbing net, she devised a plan. She was going to get with Cato and he was going to be the one to make the first move, whether he liked it or not.

So there!

* * *

Cato rolled over in his bed, trying to get to sleep. It had been a long day, what with the training, and the lessons from his mentors. Arbor, the female mentor, had won the Games about fifteen years back. She'd been preoccupied with trying to convince Clove to kill quickly, not draw it out. Clove's argument was that the people wanted a show, and her tendency to drag out people's deaths would earn her sponsors. Listening to the two of them bicker had drained his energy more than the physical exercise.

But as the time slowly ticked by, he found that he couldn't sleep. He was far too frustrated and wired to rest. No matter how he tried, sleep wouldn't come. He almost regretted not taking that course in meditation they'd offered at the academy. It was supposed to help with teaching the students stealth, but when you're over six feet tall and can wield a broadsword with one hand, you generally don't need to worry about being quiet.

With a growl of frustration, Cato sat up. He dressed quickly, pulling on simple outfit from one of the many hanging in the closet. All provided by the Capitol, of course. He padded quietly down the hallway until he reached Clove's room.

"What do you want, Cato?" She asked the minute he knocked. Of course she knew that it was him--who else would be bothering her at this time of night?

He cracked open the door. Clove was sitting on her bed, the window-screen playing images from past Games. One of their academy classes had been studying the past Games, and Clove had watched every Game at least ten times, if not more. Now she was scribbling notes obsessively.

"I can't sleep," Cato explained, leaning against the doorframe.

"I couldn't tell," Clove said dryly, hastily writing some notes on a piece of paper, her eyes darting from screen to screen.

Cato watched a boy from District 11 kill a boy from District 10 with a brick, a girl from District 6 drown in a flooded arena, and various other gruesome deaths. He looked over at Clove again, who was still pouring over all the information. She was pointedly ignoring him, hoping he'd go away and leave her to her strategizing.

Finally, Clove gave a huff and looked over at him. "Well? You want a lullaby or something?" She asked, clearly annoyed with him. "Or do I need to carve something on your other foot?"

"If you did, what would you carve?" He teased.

"Arrogant, shit-eating jackass," she said, turning back to her notes.

"I doubt that would fit on one foot."

"Let me study!" She snapped. "Am I the only one taking this shit seriously?"

Cato knew that high-pitched tone. He had genuinely upset her. With a sigh, he came over and sat on the bed next to her. Clove looked everywhere but at him.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"This is important, Cato. It's not just about killing. We have to be systematic, have a plan, get sponsors--you know the drill. If we want to make sure it's down to just the two of us at the end, we have to be very careful. There's no room for error."

He nodded, bringing his hand up and ruffling her hair. She pretended to hate it when he did that, but he knew she secretly enjoyed it.

"Okay, I get it. I'll leave you to it," he said. "You know best."

"Damn right I do," Clove said, her eyes gleaming. He smirked, getting up.

"I really just want to smack some shit around right now, you know?" He said.

Clove rolled her eyes, then reached underneath her bed, pulling out a thin card from underneath. She tossed it to him.

"It's Arbor's key card." Clove explained upon seeing his questioning look. "All the mentors have them. It allows them to enter the training room. It's supposed to be for when they have their private sessions with the tributes, without anyone spying."

"And you swiped it?" He grinned at her. "You sneaky bitch."

Clove rolled her eyes again, trying to hide how pleased she was at his praise. "Just don't leave any sign that you were down there, or the Gamemakers will make sure that you die first thing off the pedestal."

Cato winked. "I'll be sure to graffiti 'Clove was here' on the wall."

He closed the door just as a knife embedded itself in the doorframe, no more than an inch from his head. Chuckling, he made his way through the apartment and to the elevator.

The Training Center was in the basement and took up twice as much room as the apartments above. After a few days of spending all his time there, Cato knew the way to the Training Center by heart. The lights were off, except for a few emergency lights that were always kept on for safety, leaving him in near-darkness for great stretches of time.

He ran his hand along the wall, feeling the smooth concrete. Everything in the Capitol was either concrete or metal. The gray of the materials was in sharp contrast to the ludicrous colors of the inhabitants. Cato might want the Capitol's approval, but he would never get used to the dyed skin, the animal-like implants, and the extreme plastic surgery that adorned nearly every resident. If he stared at the crowds too long, he began to feel sick.

The sheer gray, however, he liked. It reminded him of home, of the tall mountains and factories, of the weapons and war machines they made. He felt a tiny pang, a slight sting in his chest, at the thought of home. He shook it off. He was Cato Macedonia, soon to be the Victor of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, the boy they would call the God of War. He would bring pride and honor to his district, and he certainly wasn't going to accomplish that by being homesick.

He reached the door to the training arena and slid Arbor's card through. The light went from red to green and the door slid open. He entered, the door sliding shut behind him.

It was only his years of training that saved him at that moment. He only had time to register that the lights were all already on when he heard the telltale whistle of a weapon, singing as someone swung it through the air.

Cato ducked, turning to face his attacker, his hand coming up to grab the aggressor's wrist, using their forward momentum to pull them along, throwing them off-balance and causing them to fall. He twisted their arm behind them, turning again so that their back was now pinned against his chest, their arms trapped firmly behind them. Cato only just stopped himself from tripping them and bashing their head into the floor. If it was a Peacekeeper or, heaven help him, a Gamemaker, he'd be executed before you could say 'mistaken identity.'

For a moment there was only the sound of heavy breathing as the two of them slowly became aware of whom the other was. Cato inhaled their scent--it was something flowery and light, but with a hint of something else underneath. The only word he could think of to describe it was sex.

The next thing he noticed was hair; long, golden locks, amber and wheat and sunlight twisting together, tickling his skin. His body also became very aware of the fact that this girl--it was a girl, he could tell now--was pressed very intimately against him.

Then the girl shifted, twisting her head so that she could look up at him, and his eyes met her deep green ones. They shone with mischief and naughtiness, and if eyes could giggle he swore that was what hers were doing. He knew who she was now.

"District 1," he growled.

The girl really did giggle now, pressing herself up against him more firmly. If she minded the awkward (and potentially painful) position of having her arms twisted behind her back, she didn't show it. "Really, I think you should know my name by now, Cato." She drew out the 'a', almost purring his name.

He was not going to be affected by this, damn it.

He released her, twisting away, out of range in case she decided to strike at him again. She smiled teasingly, her bottom lip coming out in a pout that was… okay, so it was a little adorable. But only a little, tiny bit, barely so. It definitely wasn't the cutest pout he'd ever seen.

"I hope I didn't hurt you," she said. Her voice was light, mocking. It made his blood boil. Nobody mocked him. Not even super hot chicks that smelled disarmingly good.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" He demanded. "What if I had been a Peacekeeper?"

"Then I would have killed you and hid the body." She shrugged. "My name is Glimmer, by the way."

Glimmer. Of course. District 1 was always naming their kids stupid things like that.

"You wouldn't have a sister named Shiny or Glitter by any chance, would you?" He asked, taking a step towards her but still keeping out of striking range.

She pouted some more and shook her head. "Only child. You?"

"Same."

He needed to move. He hated just standing there, not doing anything, so he began to circle her. She did the same, the two of them pacing, focused on each other. Her weapon had gone clattering to the floor when he'd pinned her so they were both barehanded, the score even.

"Your parents must be so proud," Glimmer said, overly sweet.

He smirked. "What about yours? You must be their little princess, so sweet and innocent."

"I'm their pride and joy," she said. It startled him how factual, how calmly she said it. It was a fact of life to her, this idea of people thinking she was fantastic.

Glimmer tilted her head, gazing at him, her eyes running up and down his body. She licked her lips, clearly liking what she saw. Cato resisted the urge to strike a pose.

"Why are you down here?" She probed.

"Couldn't sleep. You?"

"Maybe I was waiting for a guy like you to challenge me to a fight," she said, flirting unashamedly.

She wanted a fight, huh? Well, that could easily be arranged. Cato walked over to the racks of weapons. They sat there on their silver stands, the latest issue in pristine condition, gleaming in the harsh lighting. Not even in the academy had he been able to handle such perfect specimens of war.

He selected a sword, testing the weight in his hand. When he turned, he saw that she hadn't chosen a weapon. From the smirk on her face, he knew that she was planning something. It amazed him how well he could read her.

"Well? Take your pick--or is your weapon invisible?" He taunted.

Her smirk only grew. "I was thinking more in the line of hand-to-hand combat."

Cato shook his head. "No dice. Weapons come first."

She shrugged. "As you say."

The battle-axe whipped towards his head so quickly he barely got his sword up in time to block it. He hadn't even seen her grab the weapon. She was surprisingly quick.

She was also surprisingly proficient. Various swords, battle-axes, spears, long knives… they used them all, chasing each other around the room and snatching up weapons willy-nilly as the opportunity presented itself.

As the fight wore on, Cato found himself enjoying it, and not on a purely bloody level. He always enjoyed fighting, loved watching the dread fill his opponents' eyes, beating them to the ground and making them sweat. It brought him a pure, savage joy, causing his very blood to burn and soar with primal ecstasy.

This was different. It was more than just the lust to kill. Something else was in there, as well--it was a kind of lightheartedness, like his body was suddenly conducting electricity.

It was his sword against her mace, now, and she was wielding it with deadly force. He knew that, in the end, his sword wouldn't be able to beat her. The mace would eventually crush his finer, thinner weapon. The only way to win this fight was to trip her, unbalance her so that her weapon was out of the way, leaving his path clear.

Cato ducked as she swung, pivoting and twisting the sword so that he could use the pommel to bat at her arm. Glimmer started to fall again but also twisted, swinging her leg out and sweeping his legs up, sending them both crashing to the floor.

Neither of them wasted a second. Before they had even caught their breath they were at each other, Glimmer's knee rammed into his chest and his hands forced her elbows into the floor. They rolled, off the fighting mat and onto the smooth aluminum-coated floor, still tussling. They were fighting dirty, Glimmer biting his hand and Cato pulling her hair, using every possible trick in the book to win. They had to stop themselves from delivering lethal blows several times.

Finally they rolled so far that they crashed into the silver stand that held the arrows, Glimmer's head and Cato's left side hitting hard and sending the thin, aerodynamic weapons raining down on them. They lay there, breathing hard. He'd finally managed to lock her damn hands above her head, although he had plenty of scratches to show for it, and he'd wedged one leg between hers to prevent her from kneeing him in the crotch (which she had done--twice).

Glimmer struggled, arching her body and twisting it, which only served to press it flush against his. Cato did his best to ignore the tingling heat that shot through him at her actions.

"Admit defeat," he said, breathing heavily from the fight.

She arched one perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Who says I've lost?"

He barked out a laugh of surprised. "I have you pinned, 1. I could kill you five different ways from this position. You better not be planning to win the Games like this."

That was when she really surprised him. She hooked her leg just so, and the next thing he knew she was on top, smiling down at him as smug as you please.

"Who says that was the game I was trying to win?" She asked, her voice low and sultry. She slowly lowered herself, making it so that there wasn't an inch of skin that wasn't touching him.

The electricity in his blood spread to his skin, sending dancing, crackling sparks up and down his spine. Glimmer brushed her lips against his.

"And from now on, it's Glimmer," she purred.

She rocked her hips against him and his hands shot out instinctively, gripping her hips and stopping her movement.

"I kind of like calling you '1'," he said. His voice came out a lot more strangled than he'd have liked. Way to sound like a little girl, there.

Glimmer just shook her head. "Now, I think it would be a little strange for you to scream out a number when you climax, wouldn't it?"

"Who says I scream?" He taunted, both surprised and pleased with her bluntness.

"Oh, I'll make you," she assured him.

Cato was never patient, and temperance was completely unknown to him. If he wanted something, he took it. And, yes, it was time to admit it--he'd wanted this girl from the minute he'd seen her. It was time to take her.

Raising himself up on his elbow, Cato brought his other hand up to grip the back of her head, forcing it down so that he could smash her lips to his. She responded immediately, bracing herself with one hand so that the other could grip his shirt. Her tongue engaged his, hot and needy.

He broke away far sooner than he'd have liked, panting. "New game," he said in between gulps of air.

Her emerald eyes gleamed.

"First one to scream loses."

It took over an hour, but in the end, he won.

* * *

This must be what morphlings felt like. This incessant need, this never-ending drive, the constant wanting. The wishing, the waiting, the borderline crazy level of impatience. It was like every second dragged on for twenty, every minute lasted an hour.

Glimmer had to face facts--Cato knew how to make a girl happy. She was glad that she'd saved him for last because otherwise she wouldn't have been able to make time to figure the others out.

The others paled compared to him, and Benji had even been one of her better girl lays. It was annoying, how much she thought about him. Here she was, only a week and a half away from a massive death-battle, and what was she doing? She was mooning over a boy.

Glimmer Celestine did not moon over boys. They mooned over her.

And yet… it was as if she had a sixth sense for him. She knew when he was close, she knew where he was every second of training, and her eyes just kept getting drawn to him. When she was supposed to be waiting in line to, say, take her turn at the sparring ring, her thoughts kept drifting, images of them flicking across her mind's eye.

First, the time on the floor, when he'd pinned her and she'd flipped him. God that had been good. She'd ridden him hard, unashamedly, and he'd liked it, grinding up into her. They hadn't even gotten all of their clothes off; just unzipped their pants. He'd gripped her hips so hard she had several finger-pad-shaped bruises.

The second time had been up against the wall. They'd picked everything up, removing evidence of their presence, and they had frankly been unable to keep their hands off each other. She'd just  _had_  to touch him, feel his already battle-scarred skin underneath her fingers, breathe in his sweaty, musky, all-male scent, taste the salt of his skin, feel him shiver at her ministrations. After a few minutes he'd had about enough of it, slamming her into the wall and then slamming into her. It was rough and raw and she'd loved it, craved it, fucking begged for more.

The third--and final--time that night had been in the elevator. With only one floor to go, it had been the definition of a 'quickie.' And, again, she'd loved it.

She didn't know what, exactly, made Cato so above and beyond the others. It was actually unsettling when she thought about it. He was definitely capable of keeping up with her. Hell, he demanded everything, all that she could give and more. He'd had no problem claiming her, of being dominant, something that no other man had dared to with her. The few that had tried were so out of their depth it was laughable. Glimmer controlled things, controlled people. Nobody controlled her. And yet Cato did it effortlessly while she lapped it up like a puppy.

What was wrong with her?

Seeing that it was her turn she made to step up into the sparring ring, but the bell rang for lunch. Glimmer looked around the room. The tributes were pairing off according to their district. That Katnip or whatever girl from 12 was reluctantly laughing at something the baker boy from 12 had said. The guy looked so freakin' delighted that he'd made her laugh. It was sickeningly cute.

"Glimmer, right?"

Glimmer nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned and found herself looking into the cold, calculating eyes of Clove. Cato's other tribute. She'd seen them interacting the past few days, and while she was confident that the relationship was purely platonic she knew that they were close.

"Clove," Glimmer acknowledged.

"Would you like to join us for lunch?" Clove asked. She jerked her head in the direction of the lunch tables, and Glimmer could see Cato, Marvel, and the two District 4 tributes she'd slept with--Mahi and Koi--all sitting together, awkwardly staring at one another.

Glimmer knew that no matter how light Clove's tone was, it wasn't a request.

"Sure," she said brightly.

When she reached the lunch table, Clove took the seat on Cato's left, making it so that the only seat available was on Cato's right. Glimmer sat next to him, ignoring the fire that immediately roared to life in her belly. This was so not the time for her hormones to kick in.

This was also not the time for her treacherous brain to remind her that in ancient times, the king sat with his queen on his right side and his most trusted general or honored guest on his left.

"You're all intelligent," Clove started. She then paused, and glanced at Marvel. "Well, intelligent enough."

Cato glanced at her, and Glimmer had to look away to keep from laughing.

"I'm sure you all know why I assembled you here," Clove said.

"An alliance!" Marvel said, grinning.

Cato glared at him. "Keep your fucking voice down," he growled.

"What? It's not like they don't expect it. Careers almost always team up," Marvel argued, his voice still too loud for anyone's liking.

Clove leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "Shut your mouth," she whispered, "Or I'll do it for you."

Glimmer repressed a shudder at the girl's tone. The light in the dark-haired tribute's eyes was not entirely normal.

Marvel shut up, a minor miracle. Satisfied, Clove leaned in a little more. The others did the same. She spoke in a low but clear tone.

"These other districts aren't worth the win. They don't know the first thing about the Games. It's about honor, and representing your district, making them proud, yet they snivel like babies about it. If anyone deserves to win, it's us. Therefore, I'm proposing an alliance. Of course at the Cornucopia fight it's every man for himself. Kill as many of the other districts as you can. Once that's over, we'll control the supplies at the Cornucopia and hunt down the others."

"How will we keep the others from stealing the supplies while we're out there, hunting them down?" Cato asked.

Clove nodded towards District 3. "They work with engineering," she said. "They can disable and activate mines."

Glimmer frowned. She was more intelligent then people gave her credit for--and she liked it that way--but she was no strategist. She had no idea what Clove was getting at.

The small girl rolled her eyes. "The mines that they place around the pedestals are deactivated once the timer stops. After the bloodbath, we'll use one of the tributes from 3 to place them around the supplies and reactivate the mines. We'll know the safe path, but anyone else will get a leg blown clean off--at the least." Clove looked viciously pleased at the idea.

"How do we make sure they don't both die in the bloodbath?" Marvel asked.

"We'll be doing most of the killing," Clove said, as if it were obvious. "Look around you--the others are all far from killers, even the huge one from 11." She turned to Mahi. "You'll just keep an eye on one of them and make sure they don't get knifed or something."

"Which one?" The District 4 girl asked. Glimmer suppressed an eye-roll. The girl had been barely worth the effort of seducing her. But hey, it was worth it knowing all about her. Mahi was the oldest of five, loved boats but hated fishing because she thought it was boring, and had absolutely no subtlety or imagination. Glimmer knew that as long as she wasn't glaringly obvious, the girl wouldn't see her death coming until it was too late.

Clove looked over at the District 3 tributes, and the others followed suit. Glimmer raked her eyes over them. The girl was medium-sized, about fifteen or so, with a bland face and dark, dull eyes. The boy was small, slight, probably about thirteen or fourteen, with limp dark hair and wide, nervous eyes.

Glimmer turned to look back at Clove, and found herself looking to Cato's eyes. He had been staring at her. She smiled flirtatiously, trying to look like she was in control of the situation. She was never going to let him see that he could wrest control from her.

Cato smirked at her, his brown eyes softening slightly around the edges. Glimmer ignored her hammering heart and focused instead on the heat in her veins. Heart palpitations were not good--lust was fine. Heat was good, but butterflies were to be banished immediately.

Not that she'd ever really believed in the whole 'butterflies in your stomach' shit. Love was for the weak.

"The boy," Clove decided. "He's smaller and weaker, easier to control."

"He's also more intelligent," Glimmer added.

Clove looked at her, annoyed that someone had interrupted her. Glimmer plunged forward. "The girl; she's just sitting there, staring at her food. She has no spark, no life. She'd probably be too much in shock to figure out what to do with the mines, if she even survived the bloodbath. Judging by her oblivious manner, I'd say not. The boy, though, he's just smart enough to keep out of the way. He's looking around, alert, taking things in. He'll know what to do with the mines, and he'll know he has to do it or we'll kill him. He's smart, and he's afraid. It's the perfect combination."

Cato looked at her like she'd just lopped someone's head off--pleased, but a little surprised. It matched his expression the night before, when she'd actually been able to not only lift but also wield that mace.

Glimmer tilted her head and gave her most dazzling smile. Clove glowered at her. Someone didn't like being shown up.

"What do we do once the other tributes are killed?" Marvel asked.

Clove leaned forward again, in her element, and outlined the plan.

* * *

These arrows had been tampered with.

That was the only possible explanation as to why she couldn't hit the fucking target. What were these made out of, anyway?

Glimmer snatched another arrow out of the quiver. They'd come back from lunch for a few more hours of training before they went back to their rooms, and she was going to make the most of it.

Carefully notching the arrow, she pulled back, closing one eye and squinting slightly as she lined up her shot. Glimmer had been ridiculed by Diadem earlier that day as a "jack of all trades, master of none," whatever that meant. Supposedly it had to do with her fighting skills. Well, she'd show that uptight prissy snob. Maybe Diadem would be so shocked she'd shit the stick that was up her ass.

Wow. Glimmer hadn't had a tantrum like this in months. She'd like to say years, but who was she kidding? Controlling emotions only worked for so long and so much before you couldn't handle it, and Glimmer did not have much patience on a good day.

The damn arrow went wide again. Glimmer grit her teeth and barely resisted the urge to throw the bow across the room. Inhaling fiercely through her nose, she loaded another arrow and prepared to shoot.

Arms suddenly wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against a warm, solid body--a body that she'd come to know all too well.

"Relax…" Cato breathed into her ear, his voice soft and dark. "Lower your arm a little." One of his hands came up to her shoulder, repositioning her arm. "Now pull back until your knuckles brush the shell of your ear." He brushed his own knuckles against her ear before positioning her arm the way he described.

"Be sure to breathe. Fire on your exhale or inhale," he whispered. "Choose one or the other. As long as you're focused on your breathing, everything will go more easily."

Glimmer snorted. "Don't even try to tell me that innuendo was unintentional."

She felt him shuffle his feet as he shifted his balance, and when he next spoke she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Just be sure not to miss when you shoot."

He was  _not_  getting away with a comment like that. "That's your job," she reminded him.

Cato merely placed his hands on her hips, squeezing lightly. "Just remember to stay focused… it'll get easier the more you do it." His lips almost, but didn't quite, touch her neck, their presence felt but not their touch.

He slipped away, whistling some tune from a Capitol propaganda film, leaving her to seethe in her boiling blood.

* * *

Where was his knife?

He'd left his knife--well, technically it wasn't his, but he'd claimed it from the weapons rack almost immediately--he'd left it right there, on the bench, right before he'd gone to rile up Glimmer. Cato looked around at the Peacekeepers standing by, then at Atala, who was watching them all from the wall near the exit. The trainers were all at their posts, so…

Cato looked over at one of the other tributes. It was a boy with almond eyes--from District 9, he thought it was. The kid had been giving him weird looks all morning and now he was sitting no less than five feet from where the knife had been. Cato strode up to the boy.

"Hey!" He shouted. "What did you do with my knife?"

The boy jumped, startled and guilty. Cato could see the fear in his eyes, the guilt at being caught. Arrogant little bastard.

Cato shoved him, hard. "Huh? What'd you do with it? Where did you put it?"

The boy stammered something and took a step back. Cato advanced. "Where did you put it? I want my knife! You took it!"

Two Peacekeepers grabbed him, each taking an arm and pulling him back. "You better watch your back!" Cato warned. "In the arena, you're the first one I get! You hear me? You're going to be the first one I kill!"

The Peacekeepers continued to half-drag him until he was across the room from the boy, before letting go and walking away. Atala approached him.

"There is no fighting with other tributes," she reminded him. "If I ever see you do that again, I will–"

"You'll what?" Cato taunted. "Throw me into the arena a week early?"

Atala said nothing. There was nothing that she could do to him. He needed to be prepared for the arena, and when you were going into the Hunger Games there wasn't much else that could be done to punish you. Cato grinned, knowing he had her.

"That's what I thought," he said, swaggering away.

"Let me give you some advice for free," Atala said calmly. "That cocky attitude of yours will lead you right into a trap."

Cato ignored her.

* * *

It was not sexy.

It was  _not_  sexy.

It  _was not--_ oh, who was she kidding.

An angry Cato was an extremely fuckable Cato.

Glimmer wanted to kiss those hard, angry lines on his face and lick every single inch of his toned body. The uniform workout outfits did a marvelous job of showing off a person's physique, and if that person had a good physique (like she did), then it was practically like watching a superhero in a spandex suit.

There'd been a retro Golden Age comics phase in fashion about fifty years ago, and Glimmer had read up on it. Being from District 1, the district of luxury items, she knew a thing or two about fashion.

But anyway, the point was that Cato was hot. Period. And he was especially so when angered. If he hadn't been so annoying, she'd have gone right up and propositioned him. He was lucky to be getting a second go-round with her. Or, well, he would be, if he would just stop it with the swagger and general jerk attitude. God, she hated that. But his body… oh man, his  _body_ … the things she wanted to do to it.

She briefly considered taking his knife--if, that is, it ever made a reappearance--and hiding it on her own person. If she pointed the blade upwards it could lie flat against her stomach, while the hilt was in her pants. That would not only conceal it from view, but also force Cato to get very intimate with her in retrieving it…

Oh, no. No. What the hell was she doing? Was she actually considering this?

Glimmer mentally shook herself and went to find a trainer to spar with.

* * *

Glimmer woke up screaming.

Her chest heaving, sweat running down her forehead, she gazed around the room wildly. It was dark and empty.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she collapsed back onto the bed. There had been more of them this time, a dozen at least, all staring silently at her. Avoxes.

Glimmer was a star. She was special. The idea of having that element, what made her uniquely her, taken away from her was more than she could bear. Being stripped of her identity, robbed of her voice, forced to serve others for the rest of her life…

She couldn't think of anything that better defined Hell.

Still panting a little, Glimmer got up and changed into her training outfit. Grabbing Copper's keycard, she headed down to the Training Center. Maybe stabbing a few dummies couldn't chase the demons away, but it held them off long enough for her to exhaust herself, to forget that they lurked in the shadows.

She didn't expect him to be down there, but she wasn't surprised when Cato stepped out from the shadows, cocky grin firmly in place.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said. He offered up the gleaming silver bow. "Want to try again? There's no one else here so you can mess up as much as you want."

"You really know how to make a girl feel special," she said dryly, walking past him. He turned, a baffled look sweeping over his face before he replaced it with casual confidence. She smirked at him.

"Want to try the obstacle course again?" He suggested.

Glimmer turned slowly, smiling. "Are you always this smooth around girls, or am I just special?"

Cato shook his head. She walked up to him, opening her mouth to tease him some more, her hand coming up so that she could place it on his chest. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist painfully tight, his expression hard.

She failed to hide her cry of pain. "Cato? What the fuck?" She demanded.

"Stop teasing," he said, his voice hard and tight. He thrust her arm away and took a step back.

Glimmer wanted to think of something coy to say, but when she opened her mouth no sound came out. She tried again. "It's kind of my thing, in case you can't tell," she said, managing only half of her usual flirty flair.

"Well cut it out," Cato snapped.

"What do you want from me?" Glimmer demanded. "We met up, we fucked, it was good, end of story."

"Yeah, except for the fact that we're here again," Cato spat.

Glimmer threw her hands in the air. "It's not like we planned to meet. This isn't a date or anything."

"If it's not a date, then how come you keep trying to touch me?"

"If you have such a problem with it, then why do you encourage it?"

"I'm not encouraging anything--you're the one eyeballing me all through training!"

"Do you remember a certain bow-and-arrow incident earlier? Or did you hit your already thick head while going at it with Marvel?" Glimmer really, really wanted to stamp her foot. Or storm off. Or  _something_.

"Turnabout is fair play."

"That's a jerk move, and you know it."

"Whiny bitch."

"Cocky asshole."

"Face facts, sugar--you've been wanting to do me all day, and you came down here in the hopes of seeing me."

"Pot, meet kettle. You were waiting down here because you want some of what you got last night, the same thing you've been angling for all day with your 'drop your arm' shit."

They were circling one another again, the weapons words instead of sharp, pointy objects but still just as damaging.

"If you don't want me, then why are you always staring at me and flexing your muscles?"

"If you weren't going after me, then how come you're always sending me those 'fuck me' looks and licking your lips?"

"Maybe you're just so pigheaded you think every girl has to want you--psycho pseudo-sister excepted, of course."

"You leave Clove out of this."

"She's crazy."

"And she's my partner. Keep out of it."

"Is this argument over yet?"

"Avoidance, much?"

"Fuck you."

"You already did."

"Want to do it again?"

The words were out before they could be stopped. Glimmer bit her lip, hard, wishing she could reel that sentence back into her mouth, lock it inside her and prevent it from coming out.

Cato stared at her, then blinked, as if he wasn't entirely sure that he heard her correctly. He smiled, but it seemed more out of embarrassment then genuine cockiness. "Are you shitting me?"

"Do I look like I am?"

Hey, as long as she'd said it, she might as well go whole hog, right?

He crossed the distance between them in three long strides, taking her face in his hands and crushing his lips to hers, almost forcing his tongue down her throat. His hands gripped her so tightly it hurt, giving her body no choice but to stay pressed against his.

"I… fucking… hate you," he growled when they broke apart, tugging on her bottom lip.

Glimmer's head was positively spinning. She hated him for it. Absolutely hated him. "Likewise," she hissed.

He shoved her down onto the fight mat, giving her no time to think or even breathe before he climbed on top of her, kissing her with a sharp inhalation of breath. Glimmer hummed into his mouth. She could almost smell the fire in his blood, the heat of his skin a match for hers.

She fumbled in her hurry to get his pants off, pushing them down with irritation. Cato practically ripped her clothes off, tearing a seam on her shirt in the process.

The thought "condom" flashed through her mind, but she didn't know where there was one (she wasn't about to stop what they were doing to ask someone), and she really didn't care. This wasn't about being safe; it was about being reckless and wrong and feeling as fucking amazing as she possibly could.

When he entered her, the pace was fast and rough around the edges. She had no control, none whatsoever. In a way neither did he, judging by his ragged breathing and erratic, jerky moves. She loved this. She craved it, begged for more, insisted on it.

He finished first, of course--she hadn't met a guy who didn't--but he triggered her orgasm, and that was enough for her. She cried out, screaming nonsensically, his name slipping out from between her lips before she could stop herself.

She hated him for it. She hated that he could make her feel this good, hated that he had this control, hated his cocky attitude and all the fucking rest. She hated him, she hated him, she hated him.

It was the only feeling that she would accept. It was the only label she would give the emotions roiling within her. It was the only thing that she would name.

She had to hate him.

There was only one victor.

* * *

Cato had actually gotten his knife back. He'd found it, right back in the spot on the bench where he'd left it, about ten minutes after the confrontation with the boy from 9. Glimmer suspected that it was another guilty party, returning the knife when no one was looking, but didn't tell Cato. The guy spent the rest of the day muttering about the nerve of some assholes and threatening all manner of death upon anyone who so much as looked at him.

But now that he had it back--and, yes, now that their little "sessions" were becoming a regular thing--Glimmer couldn't shake that idea of having him strip-search her for his precious little weapon. It would be like the Peacekeeper role-play scenario (very popular, she noted, thanks to the whole domination thing), only real. It wouldn't be a fake, let's play pretend and spice up our sex life deal. It would be Cato, hungry and pissed, manhandling her and touching her and  _oh_ …

She had to do it. The idea would simply not leave her mind.

Glimmer waited until the day of training was over and all weapons had to be returned to their racks. Cato put his knife back in its spot. Nobody else dared to take it, so it would always be there waiting for him when he returned the next morning. Glimmer noted where it was kept, then sauntered past him.

"After dinner," she breathed into his ear as she brushed by.

She could feel the heat emanating from him. This was going to be fun.

She made certain to arrive early, snatching up the knife and placing it carefully in position without any further ado. Then she grabbed a couple more knives and practiced her throwing skills while she waited. She liked to imagine that each dummy was Katnip Everbitch. Or Diadem. Her other mentor still looked at her with disdain. She hadn't fallen for any of Glimmer's usual charms, and it was so annoying and frustrating and…

"You and Clove? What is it with girls and knives?" Cato asked, stepping into the room. He appraised her shots. "Not bad," he conceded.

"Maybe we like it because handling knives teaches us how to handle other things," Glimmer winked. She strode over to him. "And as for my hits… you think that you can do better?"

He was no Clove, and neither was she, but Glimmer was certain that they could have a lively competition for second place. But not tonight--tonight, there would only be one competition involving knives: Hide and Seek.

She watched as Cato approached the shelf holding the daggers and other, smaller knives. She saw his frown as he realized that his knife wasn't there. He looked over at the targets, checking to see if she'd thrown his knife into one of them.

"Glimmer? Where's my knife?" He asked.

Glimmer shrugged. "Somewhere."

"Glimmer…" Cato growled warningly. He strode over to her and gripped her forearms. "Where. Is. My. Knife."

"Why don't you try and find it?" Glimmer said coyly.

Cato leveled a glare at her. "I'm going to kill that boy for what he did, and you expect me to just play along with you?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be thoroughly punished," Glimmer purred. A thrill ran through her veins, dancing along her skin. "If, that is, you can find it."

Cato looked around the room. "Damn you," he muttered, turning back to her. "Is it close by?"

"As a matter of fact, it's very close," Glimmer assured him. She pressed herself against him, feeling his hard, lean muscles. This was giving her the biggest rush of her life.

Light burst into his eyes as the realization dawned on him. "You horny slut," he growled. Glimmer giggled.

"I prefer the term 'insatiably lustful', but we can't all be poets." She teased.

Cato slipped his hands underneath her training shirt, feeling up her back and then down her ass. He found nothing, but squeezed her butt, pulling her flush against him. He leaned in, his mouth an inch from her neck.

"You are playing a very dangerous game when you mess with me," he warned her.

"You'd never hurt me," Glimmer whispered confidently. "In the arena, sure, but not here. Not now. I fill your needs."

Cato licked a long stripe up her neck. "Yes," he confessed angrily. "Yes, you conniving bitch."

"You truly know how to woo a woman," Glimmer replied. "Now are you going to find that knife or what?"

Cato ripped her shirt up and over her head, tossing it aside. He could see the blade of the knife pressed against her stomach now. He slipped his hand down her pants. Glimmer felt him grip the handle, and then pause. She watched his face as he warred with himself. She held her breath.

With a face contorted with self-rage at his inability to resist, Cato slipped his hand down a little farther, cupping her heat. Glimmer didn't bother to hide her whimper. She'd learned that Cato loved her to be vocal. Cato squeezed slightly before his questing thumb found her clit, pressing against it. Glimmer shuddered and he wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her steady.

Withdrawing his hand, Cato carefully removed the knife from her pants, tossing it aside. "You are a vixen," he said, his harsh breathing betraying his want.

"I have to be," Glimmer replied. "I crave your body, and you know I'll never convince you to agree to this any other way."

"Just for that, you're going to pay a little more," he warned her.

"Oh, yes, tell me, O Great Warrior," Glimmer fake-pouted. "What is my punishment, exactly?"

Turned out that his punishment was to finger her for two hours, keeping her just on the edge of release but never quite letting her over, until she was sobbing with tension and pleasure and absolutely begging him to finish her. When he finally acquiesced, he had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face that she'd ever seen.

Luckily for her libido and his physical safety, she'd not only asked for it (though not in so many words), and had been kind of planning on it. And it was, all things considered, mind blowing.

She'd have to think up more things like this to do.

* * *

He didn't mean for it to become routine. He really hadn't meant for it to become ingrained into his schedule, something he needed just as much as he needed his training or his meals or strategy sessions with Clove. It just sort of… happened.

Every time they had the chance, they would meet. And every time, one of them ended up pinning the other one to some sort of surface. It didn't matter what it was--the table, the floor, the wall, the couch, the bed, the shower, the elevator--just so long as it was sturdy enough to hold their weight, it worked.

Although they both had some interesting bruises to show for it.

One time, he'd even bitten her shoulder so hard that he'd drawn blood. Imagine his surprise when Glimmer gave a shiver, and he'd found himself lapping up the salty liquid. That had led to some interesting blood play. He should've known that a girl like Glimmer would have a few kinks…

"Why'd you come down, that first night?" Glimmer asked.

They were lying in his bed. It didn't really matter whose room they ended up in. There was no rhyme or reason, no 'well you were at my place last time' or 'mine is closer.' They just sort of… tumbled somewhere.

He shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. I was too pent up." He glanced at her, the moonlight making her eyes a deep, forest green. He absentmindedly played with her hair, letting his fingers smooth out the tangles in the honeyed strands.

"What about you?" He asked.

Glimmer looked uncomfortable. She mumbled something noncommittal.

"You can tell me," he said. For some insane reason, he wanted her to trust him, to confide in him, and not just so that he could turn around and kill her. He tried not to dwell on the thought. Cato didn't think about things that made him uncomfortable.

"Nightmares." Glimmer's voice was so low and small he could hardly recognize it as hers. Gone was the bubbly, sexy girl of the interviews and Training Center. Curled up into his side, her eyes wide and her voice strained, she looked… young… almost innocent.

'Almost' being the operative word here. They had, after all, just fucked each other senseless.

"Nightmares?" He asked, echoing her. "About what?" The arena? Dying?

"About being an Avox," she said, still in that tiny voice.

She must have expected him to laugh, because she buried her face into his chest to hide her embarrassment. He blinked, confused.

"Why would you have nightmares about that?" He asked. "It's never going to happen."

"Fear doesn't make sense," she said quietly, her voice muffled.

He chuckled. She clutched at him, her nails digging into his skin. She thought he was laughing at her, at her fear.

Cato cupped her chin in his hand, raising her head up so that she was forced to look at him. "You could never be an Avox."

He really didn't know what else to say. He didn't know how to tell her what he felt, how he wanted to make it better. He'd never done this before. He wasn't the comforting type. The closest he'd ever come to that was running a sword through a guy who'd insulted his mother. It had made him feel better, although Clove had suggested that next time just lopping off a finger would do.

Glimmer seemed to understand, though, because she kissed him gently on the chest. He loved this, her ability to know what he meant, to see through his blundering words. He was far from a poet, and he certainly wasn't good at flowery love speeches like Finnick Odair, but Glimmer knew everything anyway. He lo- that is, he appreciated her for it.

"What about you, O God of War," she teased, her giggly manner returning now that they'd gotten it over with. "Is there anything the great Cato fears?"

She was so sexy when she taunted him.

Cato shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "Disappointment."

Glimmer frowned. "What?"

He swallowed, still not looking at her, just staring into the darkness. "My father made it into the top class at the academy. You know how it is--you fight your way to the top. He even got into the final fight to see who would volunteer."

Glimmer waited patiently. After a minute, Cato resumed.

"He didn't make it, didn't earn the chance, but ever since I was little that was all he raised me to do. I've been practicing saying 'I volunteer as tribute' since I was ten. Everything in my life has been about getting here, honoring my district."

Glimmer raised herself up so that she was hovering over him. Her fingers gently touched his cheek, moving his head so that he was looking at her.

"You know what he said to me?" He asked her. Glimmer stared at him silently. "He knew we wouldn't have a lot of time after the Reaping, and he didn't want to say it in front of my mother, so he told me that morning, beforehand.

"He said that I was going to go out there and win. He said that if I didn't, if I died… I wouldn't die as his son."

Damn, not the tears. No fucking tears. He hadn't cried since he was seven. Fuck this.

Glimmer leaned down and kissed him, her mouth moving languidly against his. Despite the slow pace of it, when they finally pulled away he was gasping. She always left him a little dizzy.

She didn't say anything. What could she say? She couldn't assure him that he'd live. After all, she had most likely received the same kind of lecture from her parents. She was trying to win just as much as he was. There were no words of comfort, no reassurances, no promises that she could make.

And yet, the feel of her body against his, the look in her eyes, was almost enough of a replacement. Almost enough to make up for what she wouldn't, couldn't say.

Almost.

* * *

It was his turn to wake up shaking. He was drenched in sweat, panting like he'd just been in the arena.

"Cato?" Glimmer pressed her lips to his temple, wrapping her arms around his slick, bare torso.

He shook his head disjointedly. "Nothing, it was nothing, go back to bed…"

"I have to be up anyway. I need to get back to my room." She shifted so that she could peer into his face. "What were you dreaming about?"

He said nothing, staring fixedly at his knees.

"Was it about the Games?"

He did not respond. After a moment, Glimmer nodded. "Okay. Fine. I get it." She slid out of bed and began to gather her clothes. "I'll see you in the arena then."

A new fear gripped him, and he jumped out of bed to grab her. "Don't go," he murmured. He began planting large kisses along her neck, sucking for a second before disengaging his mouth.

"Is this your way of apologizing?" Glimmer asked, still obviously put out.

"I'm sorry," he amended.

Glimmer allowed him to continue holding her for a minute before speaking. "I guess we both have our nightmares," she said, her voice low.

He nodded into her thick golden hair. "I failed," he whispered. "I failed… and my dad…" He swallowed thickly, his throat closing up. "They were going to cut my head off."

Glimmer hummed soothingly. He had a sudden image, a flash across his mind, of her using that same hum to sooth a child. It didn't make sense, as Glimmer hated children, but it entered his mind before he could block it and it fled before he could dwell on it.

"They would never do that," she said soothingly. "If you failed, you'd be dead."

That wasn't particularly heartening, but like earlier, it was all that she could give him.

"I do have to go," she whispered. She didn't sound too happy about it.

"I know." He gave her a quick squeeze.

She slipped out of the room, naked but carrying her clothes. She didn't make any attempt at being quiet or hiding herself, but strolled casually down the hall to the elevator, her clothes tucked securely under her arm, her skin glowing softly with sweat in the moonlight.

He hated to see her go.

* * *

"Marvel Argentum, with a score of ten."

Well, that wasn't a shock, if the dope had used his spear. Cato doubted that the guy could use any other weapon but as long as he had that spear in his hand he was golden.

Glimmer's face appeared on the screen, and that strange tightening in Cato's chest returned. He found himself foolishly hoping that she'd do well.

"From District 1: Glimmer Celestine, with a score of ten."

Cato's shoulders slumped with relief. If Clove hadn't been so focused on the screen, riveted to what Caesar Flickerman was saying, she would have noticed (and undoubtedly sent him a look).

"From District 2: Cato Macedonia, with a score of ten."

A ten. Cato leaned back on the couch, lacing his fingers behind his head. It was as high as most got. In fact, the last time someone had gotten an eleven had been over thirty years ago.

"From District 2: Clove Battlestorm, with a score of ten."

Clove's satisfied smirk was quick in coming.

The others did okay, ranging from five to eight. The tiny girl from 11 had managed a seven. Cato snorted. The Gamemakers probably pitied her. Thresh, the hulking dude from 11, had also scored a ten. Cato didn't begrudge him the score. When it came to sheer strength, the guy was a Goliath. But a sword beat bare hands any day.

He was so busy patting himself on the back that he almost missed it.

"And finally, from District 12: Katniss Everdeen, with a score of…"

Caesar Flickerman halted, his eyes freezing almost imperceptibly. When he spoke, his careful spokesman's voice was measured but unmistakably surprised.

"Eleven."

Clove launched herself off the sofa, shrieking.

"That fucking bastard whore! I'm going to cut her motherfucking ears off!"

Arbor and both the stylists grabbed at Clove, but she shook them off.

"Get the fuck away from me!" She yelled. "Stupid cunt!" That last one was directed at the image of Katniss Everdeen. Clove's face was twisted almost beyond recognition, a melted gargoyle's visage. Still spitting curses, Clove stormed off.

Cato exhaled slowly, standing up. "I'll talk to her," he said. Tiber, their other trainer, caught his eye and nodded.

He found her in her room, using a knife to meticulously carve patterns in her plush bedspread. Carving patterns--swirls, shapes, etc.--always helped her to calm down. Preferably, those patterns were carved into someone's skin, but any surface would do.

"They're going to kill me," she stated, not looking at him.

"That's stupid. They can't get to you here," Cato said, grinning. He knew exactly whom she was talking about.

Clove's knife missed his temple by one inch.

"I was just shown up by a backwoods fucking hick!" Clove was screaming at him now, her hands clenched into white, bloodless fists and tears streaming down her red face. "My parents are going to be humiliated!"

"You weren't upset when 12 made a huge stink at the Tribute Parade. What's the issue now?" Cato asked. He knew they would take this miner chick. How good could she be?

"You don't get it," Clove spat. "Your parents didn't pressure you to be perfect, to be the best and win. 'Just like your aunt Enobaria!'" she imitated her parents, disgusted. "They must be so ashamed."

She suddenly launched herself at Cato, her eyes wide and wild. "Let me kill her," she begged. "Let me win my honor back. Please, Cato?"

Cato gently took her hands, which were gripping his shirt, and lowered them. "I'll let you have her," he said. "As long as you promise to give them a show. Give 'em the bloodiest show they've ever seen."

A savage part of him roared in approval, both at the idea of violence and of Clove losing sponsors when she showcased her psychotic tendencies.

Clove's grip relaxed, but her eyes continued to gleam. "Nothing would make me happier."

The two compatriots grinned at each other.

* * *

Cato pulled Glimmer closer to him. She hummed and snuggled, resting her head on his shoulder. He'd never been a cuddler before--normally when things were finished he just up and left. No girl had dared to try and make him stay. But this was different. Glimmer was different.

Cato shifted to look down at her. Something had been bugging him since the meeting they'd all had during lunch break. Glimmer had known an awful lot about some of the tributes… including Marvel and the tributes from 4.

"How do you know all those things about people?" Cato asked.

"What do you mean?" Glimmer was playing coy again.

"Like the redhead from 5," Cato explained. "You said she's not capable of killing. Surviving, yes. Setting someone up to be killed, most certainly. But wielding a weapon… not likely. Can you tell all that just by looking at her?"

Glimmer laughed. "No one can do that. How do you think?"

He hated when she played games with him, no matter how cute she looked while doing it. "Just fucking tell me."

She wrapped a lock of hair around her finger coquettishly. "I slept with them." She shrugged.

It was as if he'd been hit with a sledgehammer and lost his stomach at the same time.

"You… you fucked them. The same way you're fucking me now." He tried to sound unaffected and failed miserably.

"I had to." The atmosphere in the room had quickly become tense. "I need to know my enemy. It's how I work."

"So I'm you're enemy." Shit, he sounded pathetic.

Glimmer shook her head, looking genuinely upset that he would think such a thing. "No," she said softly.

"What about Marvel?" He was growing angry against his will. He didn't know why, but it hurt. "Did you fuck him, too?"

Glimmer looked at him like he was going mental. "Of course I did," she said, as if she were telling him the sky was blue.

Cato swallowed, struggling to relax his constricted throat. Why as this upsetting him so much? Why did he care? He'd had sex before, and more blowjobs than he could count. It shouldn't matter.

But it did.

"I bet you went down on him, too," he growled. It came out more savagely than he intended.

"Maybe I did and maybe I didn't. What's it to you?" Glimmer shot back defensively. She took a deep breath that made her breasts heave. Cato's eyes watched hungrily, possessively. Marvel had seen those breasts, the motherfucking son of a bitch.

Glimmer laid a hand on his chest. She seemed to be struggling with something. After several excruciating moments, she spoke.

"It's only you now," she said quietly. "You're the only one I've had more than once. It's always been a one-time deal." She paused. When she next spoke, her voice was so low his ears strained to catch the words. "And you're the best out of them. The best out of… everyone."

Somehow he knew that she was being genuine. She might reserve false praise for others, but something told him that this was real.

Still, the thought of her and that pretty boy bastard… he repressed the tide of violent thoughts before they consumed him.

A sudden thought sprang to life inside of him. "Did he return the favor?"

"What?"

"Did he go down on you?"

Glimmer looked unable to decide between shock and amusement. To be fair, asking about stuff like this was uncharted territory for him. She answered him honestly, though, and without guile. "Boys don't really do that for girls. It's always rather… one-sided."

It took him a mere moment to decide his course of action. He was uncertain of his motivation. Maybe he could sense the hurt, the vulnerability she was struggling valiantly to conceal. Perhaps he felt a sense of duty, or even guilt. It could have been that he just wanted to one-up Marvel. Whatever the reason, the words had flown out of his mouth before he'd even completed the thought.

"Can I go down on you?"

Glimmer stared. She truly, openly stared. "You want to give me oral?" She finally asked.

He nodded, at a sudden loss for words. "I, uh, yeah. I wanted to return the favor."

Her faced hardened. "What, so it's just being fair? Easing your conscience? I'll be you think it's just as 'service', don't you?" She made a scathing noise. "You don't get it. None of you do. You think it makes you powerful, don't you? You feel like it's all about submission and it's degrading and all the fucking rest. You're all wrong. I'm in control here. I have your body at my mercy. How is it any different than a sword? My sexual abilities are just as much of a weapon as your precious metal sticks. I chose to perform oral on Marvel and others, and I chose to perform it on you. I was my choice. Nobody made me. I'm not a fucking Avox."

Cato realized that he was on dangerous ground, having inadvertently insulted her method of manipulation. Still, he couldn't help but prod her.

"But aren't you giving in to the stereotype?"

"Stereotype?" Glimmer laughed. "The stereotype is just a caricature of how people really are. When you play up to the stereotype, you play up to their expectations. You can manipulate them. That's how it works."

"Okay, I get it. You don't have to make me feel like an idiot about it."

"You are an idiot--you don't need my help."

He glared at her. If it had been anyone else, even a girl, he would have slapped them, but this was Glimmer. He stayed his hand.

"I'm not… I don't want… Look, I've never done this before, okay? Never. I've never thought about it, never wanted to--but I want to do it for you. I want you to feel like someone gave you something, not like you always had to… I don't know. I just want to, okay? I want to do this for you." He kept swallowing, despite how dry his throat was, but no matter how much he cleared his throat and swallowed, the words wouldn't come. He just didn't know what to say.

Glimmer stared at him for a long moment. It was impossible to know what she was thinking, what sort of thoughts were whirring behind those gleaming eyes. If he'd been a more perceptive person, he might have fathomed a guess that she herself didn't know what to think.

Finally, she blinked. He'd begun to realize that was her equivalent to a nod. "Okay then."

He swallowed again, but his throat remained stubbornly dry. "All right. Lie down."

She stared at him. "Now?"

He shrugged. "When else do you want to do it? I'll see if I can pencil it into my busy schedule."

Glimmer glared at him, but lay down on the bed, spreading her legs. Her eyes were challenging, like she expected him to just dive right in.

Cato would never boast of intellectual prowess, but he knew how to fuck a woman, and that included setting the mood. He was going to do this his own way, and he was going to make her beg. He wanted her hot and wet when he put his mouth on her.

Cato leaned over her, cradling her head with one hand while he gripped her right hip with the other. He kissed her, slow and steady, like they had after fucking last night. He still wasn't sure how comfortable he was with the kiss, with the strange intimacy it seemed to convey, but he enjoyed it too much to dwell on it. After a moment, he felt Glimmer relax, making a tiny noise of approval when his hand left her cheek to gently squeeze her left breast. He massaged it for a minute, and then broke off the kiss to drop tiny openmouthed pecks on her face and neck. His hand on her hip hitched her leg over his waist so that he could rub against her. When he gently bit the tendons in her neck, she moaned. He kept at it, massaging her other breast now, rolling the nipple in between his fingers, continuing to kiss her and allow her to half-grind against him. When he felt her become too needy, too frantic in her movements, he lifted himself off of her. Glimmer let out a moan of protest.

"Patience," he chuckled. She glared at him.

"That's pretty ironic, coming out of your mouth." Her voice was too controlled for it to come out as a whine, but it was close enough. She was all wound up.

Trying to project more confidence then he felt, he repositioned himself so that he was hovering just over her sex. From this new position, he could actually smell her arousal, the dark, musky scent wafting off of her like ripples of air. He inhaled deeply, all the blood rushing to his groin at the scent. If he'd known how turned-on this would make him, he'd have done this shit ages ago.

A part of him knew that it was selfish, but he was pleased to note how Glimmer kept up on her personal hygiene down there. He honestly hadn't noticed it all that much before, but now with her mound a bare inch or two from his face, he was glad that there wasn't a bunch of hairy mess to obscure what he was doing. He needed all the help that he could get on this.

Experimentally, unsure of where to start, he ran his tongue slowly up the length of her, feeling cautiously with his mouth. Glimmer twitched with pleasure.

"Cato…" She said through clenched teeth. "Speed.  _Up_."

He smiled against her skin, and then went back to his exploration. He poked his tongue in her entrance, swirling it around before latching his mouth onto her and sucking, his confidence growing with every passing moment. He realized that this was similar to French kissing, in a strange way, and he began to employ the tricks he usually applied to girls' mouths. It seemed to be working because Glimmer was writhing above him, moaning in arousal and surprise at the sensations this new experience was giving her. The duality of it, the idea that not only was he turning her on, but that he was the first one to do this to her, was strangely, and amazingly, intoxicating.

After a minute he managed to locate her clit, sucking on it and biting softly. Glimmer cried out, her body arching off the bed. Cato's hands automatically came up and gripped her hips, pushing her back down onto the mattress.

"Nuh-uh," he growled against her skin. "Stay still."

Glimmer moaned with frustration and pleasure. Cato grinned and continued to work on her. While no intellectual, he did well when applying himself to a physical task, and he quickly learned what worked and what didn't. He was seriously enjoying himself now, thoroughly in love with the power he had over her. Glimmer had been right--he was the one in control here.

"Cato!" Glimmer nearly shrieked. She was so tightly wound that she was panting.

With another cocky smirk, he bit down on her clit and gave one last, powerful suck. Glimmer screamed, her body becoming amazingly stiff, arching back off the mattress despite his hands on her hips. She trembled slightly, her breath coming in sharp little gasps as she tried to get her body back under control. Cato watched her predatorily, propped up on his elbows. When her tremors finally ebbed away, she collapsed, boneless, onto the bed.

"Oh… oh my fuck… Cato…" She mumbled incoherently, babbling his name and a string of profanities. Cato smirked and crawled back up towards her. Her eyes snapped open, her defenses up, until she saw who it was and she relaxed again. They shared a smile.

He loved watching her--during interviews, in the training room, in bed--but he realized that this was his favorite; watching her as she came apart, drinking her salty-sweet juices.

_I loved doing that for you._

"Can we do that again sometime?" He asked, his smile growing into his usual cocky grin.

She wiped the sheen of sweat from her face. "Anytime you want." She smirked.

_Thank you for that._

Cato was surprised at how tired he was. Judging by the way Glimmer was unashamedly sprawled beneath him, not bothering to pose or position her body, she was exhausted as well.

"You wanna just sleep?" He asked.

Glimmer didn't bat an eye at the suggestion that she stay the night. They both knew the complications of such an action, the possibility of getting caught. Cato didn't know about her--she might have been too tired to think about it--but he realized that he didn't care. What could they do to them? They had been stripped of everything, from their families to their very lives. At that moment, all that he wanted was to lie with Glimmer in his arms.

He was too tired to think about that that meant.

* * *

When he woke up, it was to the shifting of Glimmer in his arms as she settled herself against him in sleep. He blinked repeatedly, last night returning to him with each open and close of his eyelids. Now that he'd had some sleep, he was thinking more clearly. If Clove or Tiber found Glimmer in here, the shit was really going to hit the fan.

Cato decided that he didn't care.

Glimmer shifted in his arms again, and then she raised her head slightly. She blinked once, slowly, her green eyes going from light grass to deep, clear forest as she woke up and focused.

"Hi," she said. Her voice was velvety and an octave higher than usual, her vocal chords thrown out of whack by sleep. He'd never heard her 'morning voice' before. It was cute.

"Hey."

There was a long moment of silence.

_Well, this wasn't awkward at all._

"So…" Cato cleared his throat. "How'd you sleep?"

"I slept well," Glimmer responded quietly. "How did you…?"

"Best sleep I've had in weeks," he assured her.

There was another pause.

"Cato…" Glimmer's index finger drew absent-minded patterns on his chest. "Can I… can I ask you something?"

Cato nodded.

"Will you kill me?"

He stared at her. He couldn't have possibly heard her correctly. "What do you mean?"

Glimmer shrugged, staring at his chest. "I mean… well, I'm going to try and win. I'm not giving up on that. It's just that I don't want you doing anything stupid. You won't do anything stupid, will you?"

It came to him in a flash. One of her mentors must have had a talk with her. Or, maybe she just figured it out on her own. She was far more cunning than people gave her credit for. She could have put together the pieces by herself.

"Glimmer, I'm not sentimental. You know that. And I'm not weak."

"I never said that you were."

"We fucked. We did not make love. This isn't… this isn't anything to me."

Glimmer nodded affirmatively.

"I will kill you," Cato told her.

"Not if I kill you first," Glimmer said with a mix of determination and relief.

Cato's thoughts were whirling, but why or what about he wasn't sure. There was simply something off within him, like scales that had once been in balance were now tipped.

"Can it be quick? You know--clean wound and all?" Glimmer asked tentatively. "I don't want to be humiliated in front of the entire Capitol. You know I'll do the same for you."

Cato understood. He nodded. "If you promise to give me a fair fight, then I'll give you a fair death."

"Quickly," Glimmer repeated.

"Quickly," Cato agreed. He paused, and added, "Painlessly."

"Painlessly," She affirmed.

He felt a little dazzled, as if he'd been in darkness and was now surrounded by thousands of bright lights. Glimmer smiled at him. It wasn't a modest-yet-glamorous smile, it wasn't a coquettish smile, it wasn't a flirty smirk, it wasn't… anything. Nothing calculated, nothing behind it. It was simply Glimmer. Smiling, because she felt like it.

Cato felt something warm bloom in his chest, seeping through him like the slow, crackling heat of a fire. He had the sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss her.

So he did.

* * *

Glimmer stood in the elevator, tapping her foot. She only had to go down one floor, but it still felt like eons. No matter how much confidence she projected, she still didn't like the idea of someone catching her naked sneaking through the Tribute Apartments.

The elevator doors slid open silently and she stepped into her apartment. Technically, the tributes could only go to their room and the training room, as well as the rooftop garden. With Copper's keycard, however, Glimmer had unlimited access. She could go anywhere that she wanted. She supposed that this was an awful lot of trust for the Gamemakers to place in the mentors, but she was sure that whatever thoughts of troublemaking the former victors might have were easily squashed by the thoughts of the punishments that would surely await them.

Her floor was usually empty, devoid of everyone including the Avoxes, but not so this morning. She'd slept in late with Cato, and it was already five in the morning. They'd have to be up in an hour.

Unfortunately for her, someone had decided that he wasn't going to sleep in until the last possible moment this morning.

"Hey," Marvel said, giving her a quick glance before going back to watching the pre-Game celebrations on the television. Various performers did acts that they'd thought up to reflect the various tributes for that year. At the moment, a popular music group was performing a song called "Firebird." It didn't take a genius to figure out which tribute they were singing about.

Glimmer spared him a glance, but kept walking. He wasn't worth her time.

"You're playing a dangerous game."

Glimmer froze, but didn't look at him. Marvel kept talking, oblivious to her state… or, perhaps not. His tone was certainly casual enough, but there was a chord hidden deep within that she had not previously recognized.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Glimmer, but you're a girl. I've been with plenty of girls, seen plenty of girls with other guys, and I know how it goes down. You can't stay just friends with benefits. It's just not how you're hardwired."

"I've slept with every tribute worth my time in the last week," Glimmer shot. "I think I can distance myself from my emotions."

Marvel shook his head, still staring at the television. "Trust me--you're going to lose your head eventually. And when you do, I'm going to say 'I told you so'." He paused. "Well, I would, but you'll probably be dead."

Glimmer was trembling with rage. Who said that he had the right to interfere? What the hell gave him the idea that he could butt into this?

"I can handle myself perfectly fine, thank you," she said, her voice laced with acid. "And when you see me parading Cato's head on a pike in the arena, we'll see who's the emotional one."

She stormed off before Marvel had a chance to reply, but she could almost feel him shaking his head at her behind her back. She stormed off to her room and slammed the door. It wasn't any of his fucking business! If she was a cat, she would have been hissing and yowling with her hackles up. Stupid annoying pathetic fucking asshole bastard son of a…

There was a knock on the door. "Glimmer!"

It was Copper. Perfect; fucking perfect.

"What!" She shouted at the closed door.

"It--it's time for breakfast," Copper stuttered.

"I'll be out in a minute," Glimmer said, folding her arms in defiance even though she knew that the woman couldn't see her.

"Oh--okay." Copper said. In her mind's eye, Glimmer could see Copper taking a small step back, her eyes wide in her patented don't-hurt-me-I'm-innocent look.

Glimmer flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

* * *

"We need to talk," Tiber insisted.

Cato didn't turn around but kept walking--swaggering, Clove would have said.

"Look, if it's about the whole sword-only thing…"

"It's about Glimmer Celestine."

Cato didn't freeze. He was too well trained for that. He slowly turned to glance back at his mentor. "What about her?" He asked.

"Don't play dumb," Tiber said cuttingly. "It doesn't suit you."

He weighed his options and decided on honesty… kind of. "Okay, yeah, I banged her. What's it to you?"

"You didn't bang her," Tiber refuted. "You  _are_  banging her. You've spent just as much time with her as you have spent training."

"So?" Cato challenged.

Tiber took a step forward, leaning in. Cato had never seen him look so intense. "So? Just how stupid are you? Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

Cato said nothing. He was beginning to sense that there was something he wasn't seeing, something that Tiber was leading up to with this. The man had been through the Hunger Games himself, and that took some measure of skill and grit.

"I think what I'm doing is having some fun. It's not like I have any 'fun' to look forward to. What are the Gamemakers going to do about it? What do they care?"

Tiber looked to the side, shaking his head. "You don't get it," he muttered before looking back at Cato. "You think that you're the only ones? You think that you're the first ones to do this? A couple of horny teenagers with nothing left to lose and a couple of weeks left to live. You do the math. You remember the winner from two years ago?"

"Topaz Oriental from District 1," Cato said automatically. One of their academy assignments was memorizing the winners of every Hunger Games.

Tiber nodded. "And who did she kill second-to-last, the tribute she killed before her final fight with the boy from District 5?"

Cato thought back to the videos he'd watched. Clove would have been the better person to ask. She was the one obsessively studying the past Games and strategies. The arena for the 72nd Hunger Games had been a desert, with hard-packed earth, barren rocks and strange, Capitol-created plants. Topaz had killed…

"What's-her-name from District 11," Cato said finally. "Topaz mashed one of the spiny plants into her face and beat her with it." He remembered it being a particularly bloody death.

"Her name was Bran," Tiber said. "And the two were lovers."

Cato's body froze up. "Wait--two girls…?"

"Don't look so shocked," Tiber said, waving off Cato's astonishment. "The point is that she had to kill her. Brutally. She had no choice."

"So?" Cato challenged once again. He didn't know what Tiber was getting at, but he was starting to get annoyed.

"How is it going to feel?" Tiber demanded. "How will it be to look into her eyes and crush, or slash, or beat the life out of her?"

Cato said nothing, opting to glare at his mentor.

Tiber's glare was equally intense. "I had a lover. Her name was Pine Bunyan. She was from District 7. I stabbed her through the throat with an icicle."

There was a glaring, intense pain in Tiber's eyes. "It's bad enough, what they make you do," he whispered hoarsely. "But having to do it to someone… someone that you've done that with… there are few things worse than that."

He gestured uselessly. "You know Finnick Odair, the pretty boy player from District 4 that all the girls love? He's slept with more women then I've met in my lifetime. Copper, your precious paramour's mentor, is one of his conquests. Do you know why he does it?"

"I suppose he had to kill his fuck buddy, too?" Cato snorted.

Tiber leaned in until his face was almost directly in front of Cato's. Cato's eyes darted around for a moment before squarely meeting the older man's gaze. "He does it to hold off the pain. It distracts him. There's another winner from District 4. She won the 70th Games when the arena was flooded. Her name is Annie Cresta. She lost her head in that arena after watching the male tribute from her District lose his… literally. They might both be alive, but they can't be together.

"Those hicks from 12 aren't the first--they're just the first ones known about, the first ones to be publicized. And you can bet that if it weren't all fucking schoolboy crush or puppy love, the Capitol citizens wouldn't be as sympathetic. Nobody sympathizes with the teenage horndogs."

Cato said nothing, but his glare must have spoken volumes, because Tiber straightened up. "You think about that," he said curtly. "And you ask yourself if it's worth it."

"It's not like we're planning to elope or anything. It's just a release of tension, you know?"

"Call it what you like," Tiber snapped. "But when you're pointing weapons at each other in the arena, you try and stop yourself from thinking about what she looked like in your bed."

The former victor stalked away, leaving Cato to wonder.

How many other tributes did this?

How many secret trysts were there?

Arbor called him to dinner, but Cato suddenly felt sick.

* * *

"You got a minute?"

Marvel chucked the spear, landing a bull's-eye in the chest of the target. "Yeah. What's up? Clove got another stupid strategy session?"

Cato glowered. "It's about Glimmer."

"What about her?" Marvel looked up at the other boy. He seemed genuinely confused.

"You fucked her."

"Yeah, so did you." Marvel shrugged. "It's just a girl, man. I'm a bit of a chick magnet, in case you can't tell." He grinned. "She's a slut. I enjoyed it. Whatever."

"You don't care that she's slept with both of us?" Cato asked. Confusion roiled in his chest like a stormy sea.

"Um, no. Should I?" Marvel replied. Geez, the guy was an idiot. "It's not like she's my girl or anything."

Okay, maybe he was only half an idiot.

"Why… are you upset?" Marvel asked, peering into Cato's face.

Cato took a step back. "No, man, just wondering. Some guys are weirdly possessive that way, you know?"

Marvel snorted. "Do I ever. Remind me to tell you about this one curly-haired broad I banged a couple of years back. Her boyfriend flipped out; you'd think they were married or something."

"Right, yeah." Cato nodded, distracted.

Marvel paused, his face becoming serious--or as serious as it was possible to be with a face like his. "Look, Cato… I know something's up. I hate to tell you, but it's kind of obvious."

Cato gave him his best  _I will slaughter you_  glare. Marvel, to his credit, didn't back down. "Look, I don't care what you two get up to. That's you're business. I'm just pointing out that you might want to look into it. Search your feelings or whatever crap you want.

"You know how it goes--you think you got a good deal going, and then the bird shows you just how crazy she is. Glimmer's a snake. She likes to get in close. Man to man, I'd be careful."

Marvel clapped Cato on the back and went to retrieve his spear, leaving Cato to stare at the ground in shock. Several things alarmed him.

First, that Marvel, fucking  _Marvel_ , could see that something was going on with him and Glimmer. The dude couldn't find his way out of a wet paper sack. Muscle his way out, sure, but Cato was pretty sure the guy didn't know basic math. And as for his jokes… man, they stunk worse than a three-day corpse. If Marvel was wising up, then they must be glaringly obvious to everyone else, and that included the Gamemakers.

Second, there was his internal reaction to Marvel's little 'warning' about Glimmer. He was downright angry. He wanted to defend her, to get right in the guy's ugly smashed monkey face and inform him of just how wrong he was. Nobody talked badly about Glimmer--nobody.

This led to number three, which was that Marvel was actually right, that Glimmer was playing him, and that she was going to use him and twist a knife into his back the minute he fell asleep in the arena.

And of course, above it all, was the question of what all of this meant. Sure, he had his pride; what guy wants to admit that they're stupid enough to have picked a girl who's going to get the drop on them? And what guy wouldn't want to defend what was his? But if Glimmer was his… then what did that mean? And why was this all bothering him so much?

Cato realized that there was only one solution. He had to give her up. He couldn't allow this to continue. It was messing with his head, and he couldn't afford that, not when he was about to go and fight for his life. Tiber was right--this was getting to him. He had to make it stop.

The interviews were tonight so everyone would be busy getting ready for that. He'd tell her afterwards.

It was over.

* * *

Glimmer twirled in front of the three-way mirror. Three-way--ha, ha. She had such a filthy mind, she was like a fucking fourteen-year-old boy.

Not that she was complaining. Having a dirty mind was thoroughly entertaining.

The dress she was modeling was light gold and practically see-through. It was also extremely short. It wasn't at all scandalous or over-the-top by Capitol standards. They liked seeing the tributes in outfits that were just below the outrageous Capitol standards in order to emphasis the difference in status. She knew that some of the outlying districts were going to be gasping and covering the kiddies' eyes when she pranced onto the stage. Females went before males, so she would be the very first up to talk with Caesar Flickerman that evening.

She couldn't wait.

This was her chance to truly shine. Her moment of glory. Here she would get to show the world just what kind of person she was. She was going to charm them like they'd never been charmed before. They thought that Finnick Odair was smooth? Well, ladies and gentlemen, she was going to knock that fish-boy out of the park.

"It's perfect," Glimmer told her stylist. Cody was a veteran of the Games, this being her fifth year as a stylist. However, this was her first year styling for one of the Career districts, and she was pulling out all the stops.

"You look lovely," one of the prep team members gushed.

"Like a star!" Another one agreed.

"I look sexy," Glimmer said, practicing her pout in the mirror. "And that's what counts."

"Remember to show off your legs, and flip your hair a lot," Cody said. "They love your hair. Be careful that you don't lay on the ditzy too thick. You want to fool the other tributes, not lose sponsors because they think you're dumb. Emphasize your training. They want to know that you can kill."

Glimmer gave the mirror her most dazzling smile. She could already hear the thunder and roar of the crowd in her ears.

"Don't worry, Cody," she assured the stylist. "I'll be so dazzling that I'll blind them."

"That's my girl." Cody nodded.

* * *

The Caesar Flickerman show theme is one that is ingrained into the minds of every Capitol citizen, as well as anyone in the districts with access to television. He was not only the host of the Hunger Games but had his own nightly talk show where he interviewed entertainers and stars. Actors, singers, fashion designers, and socialites… anyone who was anyone eventually found themselves sitting across from the charismatic host.

And what a host he was. Caesar had such a prime gig for a reason. He was, quite simply, the best at what he did. He made the nervous feel at ease and the shy come out of their shell. He put everyone in a positive light, playing up their strengths and glossing over or downplaying their weaknesses. He got along well with everyone, and complimented whatever their personality was. If they were funny, he made them more so. If they were witty, he would banter with them. If they were earnest, he had a meaty, while still entertaining, discussion. But never did he shine more, or do his job better, then doing the Hunger Games.

Some idiotic backwoods tributes might not realize it, but the interviews were what set the tone for the entire Games. It was where they showed the audience who they were… or who they wanted the audience to think they were. If they got the support or sympathy of the crowd, they would get sponsors. It was imperative that they get the audience to like them. Whether they played it sexy or ruthless, sweet or clever, they had to get the Capitol to like them. Quite simply, they had to manipulate their natural image, the essence of who they were, into an audience-friendly version. They were basically creating a stage personality.

After all the Games were, above everything, a television show. A massive spectacle, a gladiator game flashed up on screens for all to see. It was the reality television of the long-gone United States, pushed to the limits of brutality and entertainment. It was the Christians and the lions, the no-rules chariot races, the public hearings. It was Ancient Rome, with all its decadence and corruption, draped with the silk and steel of the glorious future.

It was all bread and circuses.

Glimmer was at the front of the line waiting in the wings. This forced her to turn around and crane her neck if she wanted to see anyone past Cato's tall, hulking form. He was wearing black fitted trousers and a black silk shirt with an obscenely low cut collar, exposing his gleaming chest (which was hairless--fortunately Glimmer preferred it that way but seriously, those stylists…) A black leather jacket completed the suave, bad-boy look. His hair was spiked up, as usual, but Glimmer noticed that he'd gotten a trim on the sides. It was simple, and showed off his impressive, muscular physique. He was like a knife sheathed in a smooth, dark silk sheath. Glimmer thought that he had never looked more handsome. She wanted to rip that lovely suit off and do him right there, in front of everyone.

She stifled a laugh at the thought of what Katniss Everdeen's face would look like. The prude. She probably still hadn't realized that Bread Boy was completely in love with her.

Glimmer noted that the stylists had gone with a classic look this year. While each stylist did their own thing with the districts, for Caesar Flickerman's show they all banded together to decide on the same basic style. They still strove to make their young charges stand out, but it gave the interviews a kind of visual flow. The classical Old Hollywood style, as it was called (don't ask her why--she didn't know and she doubted anyone else did), would contrast the decidedly futuristic looks prevalent in the Capitol. Back when her mother was young the style had been Animalistic, with everyone trying to look vaguely catlike or with a wild jungle bent to their fashion. While still relatively popular, that look was fading and being replaced with a more Oriental look, with women wearing what looked like dresses made of Origami and bright, carefully defined sweeps of color over pale faces. The absurdly dyed hair, however, was still there. Glimmer doubted that would ever change. The skin-dying thing that Caesar had going on was a cult thing that had maintained a small but strong following, even back when the whole metallic Steampunk style was going on right before the Treason and the War.

While there were other interviews throughout the two weeks leading up to the Hunger Games, this one was the most important, and really showcased to the audience--both in the theater and at home--just who these tributes were. So everything, even their outfits, mattered.

The trademark, instantly recognizable theme had died down, and Caesar was speaking. Glimmer stopped trying to get a look at what District 8 was wearing and instead turned back to face the stage. She'd be on in just a minute. This was the culmination of all that she'd worked for in her life. Whatever happened afterwards, in the arena and beyond, this was her moment of glory.

"Let's see if she really does shine; give it up for  _Glimmer Celestine_!" Caesar said, emphasizing and drawing out her name. He gestured towards her with his arm, and Glimmer ascended the stairs. The crowd went wild as she pranced onto the stage. She pushed her shoulders up, wiggling her fingers as she waved, dipping her head and giving the screaming, cheering mass of faceless bodies her best coquette smile. She made sure that her butt swayed just a little more than normal as she walked, putting each foot directly in front of the other, taking long strides to show off her toned, smooth legs. She'd always shaved but man, her prep team could get rid of hair like nobody's business. She loved it.

"Good evening, my dear," Caesar said, taking her hand and smiling.

"Good evening, Caesar," Glimmer replied, her voice just slightly higher in pitch. She giggled.

The host led her to two comfortable, plush chairs in the center of the stage. He took one, and Glimmer the other. She perched herself on the end, bending her legs to the side and placing her hands on the edge of the arms of the chair. She tossed her hair back, letting the cameras get a good, full look of her neck, collarbone, upper chest and the tops of her breasts. Say hello to the twins, boys.

"I must say, you are simply one of the most beautiful tributes we've had in a long time--wouldn't you agree, folks?" Caesar asked, turning to the crowd. The way he engaged the audience was something the Capitol residents adored and never tired of. They loved being the center of attention, no matter what the form.

"Oh, Caesar," Glimmer giggled again. "You're just like the boys at home--such flirts! They never make good on their promises, do they, ladies?" She asked the audience. There was laughter from about half of the rooms occupants--in other words, all of the females. "Fortunately, I always make good on  _my_  half of the bargain." Glimmer winked.

The theater was filled with catcalls and whistles, and even some clapping. Caesar chuckled. "I hope you're talking about the Games, Glimmer," he said, wagging a finger in mock warning.

"Of course, Caesar, what did you think I was talking about?" Glimmer batted her eyelashes. There was laughter as people realized she was insinuating Caesar's mind was in the gutter. Glimmer decided it was time to get a little serious.

"In all honesty, Caesar," she said, scooting a little closer and leaning on her elbows, "There's no one that's better at finishing than I am."

There were more catcalls and laughter.

"I'm a pretty face, and don't I know it." Glimmer sent the audience another wink, "But all the roses have thorns. I'm prepared to do what's necessary."

"So you feel that you're prepared?" Caesar said carefully.

"Yes, Caesar, I am very prepared." Glimmer turned her upper body towards the audience, smiling as if she'd just invited them to her bedroom instead of implied that she was ready to murder.

"And by doing what's necessary, you mean…" Caesar trailed off, allowing her to finish. He could sense that Glimmer wanted to close the deal on her own.

"Ask anyone from my school--I'm ruthless," she said, purring like a cat about to devour its prey. She looked like the quintessential mean girl. "I'm willing to stab a girl in the back to get her boyfriend. What do you think I'll do when my life is at stake? I'm a girl who loves the good things in life, and I'm quite looking forward to getting those things by winning these Games. I'm going to take you for a ride, and you're going to love it. We're going to have so much fun: me doing it, and you watching it," she promised them, promised them with a voice filled with sin and champagne giggles and every feminine wile she had in her.

"I'm so bad," she said, her voice lowering to a dark, lusty timbre just above a bedroom whisper, "It's good."

The crowd went wild.

"Well…" Caesar said, grinning. He wasn't quite sure what to do with someone so blatantly sexual--she practically just offered the audience sex and voyeurism--but it wasn't the first time he'd had to improvise and it wouldn't be the last. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that we're going to have quite a wild time watching you in the Games." He turned to the audience. "Glimmer Celestine, ladies and gentlemen, the star of the Games!"

Glimmer stood, giving a side curtsy and giving her cutesy wave, grinning winningly but with bedroom eyes. She'd dazzled them, all right. In fact, she was sure she'd dazzled half the men into an erection.

Not bad for two minutes on stage.

She pranced off of the stage, exuding confidence and sex with every step. She was radiant, and she knew it. As she passed the other tributes, Cato caught her eye. His pupils were so blown up that she could hardly see any color other than the dark, empty black. She could practically smell his desire, his hunger for her. It sent the darkest of shivers down her spine. She wanted him to act on that hunger, to take her right then and there. But she'd have to wait until this was all over.

Good things come to those who wait. Oh, she was going to have fun tonight.

There were a lot of good things about going first. You set the precedence, you didn't have to sit around forever and let your nerves build up, and there was the relief of getting it over with. But one annoying thing about going first was that you then had to wait for everyone else to finish. None of the tributes were allowed to leave until all of the interviews were over. Then they were all shuttled back to the their apartments together.

So Glimmer sat in the District 1 room with Diadem, Copper, Cody, and Tacitus, Marvel's stylist. There was a massive flat screen television in the room, of course, so she was able to watch the interviews.

Marvel was first up after her. His interview was good, but nothing unexpected. He cracked jokes and generally played up his fighting skills. He portrayed his fighting abilities as greater than they actually were, in Glimmer's opinion.

"It's easy pickings this year," he declared. "I can take any one of these guys; you can bet your money on that."

When Caesar stood and announced his name one last time, Marvel pumped his fist into the air and whooped. Glimmer curled her lip up and rolled her eyes. That kid was  _so_  tacky…

Next was Clove. Glimmer leaned forward, eager to watch this one. Cato had told her a lot about Clove: how they'd grown up together, how they were partners, and also how Clove wasn't exactly balanced when it came to the aggression department. Glimmer had seen for herself how violent the girl could get. She was seriously sadistic. Glimmer couldn't help but wonder--okay, hope--that the dagger-eyed little ferret would scare all the sponsors off.

Unfortunately, Clove was also extremely cunning. Not book-smart, maybe, but definitely a strategist. She would've been a general if she'd been alive during the District War.

"And now let us welcome to the stage our first tribute from District 2. Don't let her size fool you, ladies and gentlemen--this girl is as deadly as she is elegant. Please give a warm welcome to Clove Battlestorm!"

Clove stepped onto the stage, delicately holding up her peach, Grecian-style dress so it wouldn't drag. Her hair was partially braided and done up in a Grecian style as well. She carried herself with grace, her steps even, as regal as any queen. When she sat, it was like she was taking a throne.

"It's lovely to finally meet you, Clove," Caesar said. "I must admit, I've been curious about you ever since we saw you at the Tribute Parade. You've got quite the fierce reputation."

"Thank you, Caesar," Clove said graciously. "It's lovely to be here."

"Why don't you explain some of your abilities?" Caesar asked. "I've heard you're quite good with a knife."

Clove gave a tiny smile and turned towards the crowd. "A knife is my weapon of choice, yes, but I am proficient in all forms of weaponry. I won't lie to you, Caesar; I'm an assassin. I like to get in close and  _kill_. No big, drawn-out battles for me. One throw of the blade and you're finished. I like things quick and clean--which is why I'm going to make this a fun set of Games.

"You want a show, Capitol? You want to see some action, get some blood, feel your pulses stir?" The crowd cheered after each question. Clove's tight-lipped smile grew. Glimmer had never seen the girl smile before, and it didn't seem natural. It was joyless. It was ruthless.

"I will erase all competition. And I'm going to give you a show, get your hearts racing, while I'm at it," Clove promised them. Glimmer gave them perfumed sheets and nighttime desire, but Clove was the snake in the garden, holding up the tempting fruit. "You're going to get the Games you deserve with me, because I've got a plan, and I'm going to see it through to the end. And you're going to love watching all unfold. I promise you that."

Clove's smile became a smirk as the crowd cheered, their lust for blood and gore awakened once more. The smirk, Glimmer decided, fit her face much better.

Caesar made a closing remark and announced Clove one more time before she left the stage, but Glimmer was hardly paying attention. Her blood was humming with anticipation, her ears buzzing with excitement. She unconsciously held her breath, not releasing it until she heard his name and saw him step onto the stage.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Caesar," Cato said, shaking the man's hand. He sat down and gestured out to the audience. "And I have to say, it's an honor to be here. Representing my District like this… I can't think of a better way to show my pride for my country."

The crowd cheered. A tribute that understood what the Games were all about--now there was something that they could get behind. They loved it when the tributes were enthusiastic and understood why the Capitol citizens loved the Games so much. It was just rare enough that it was a good card to play, and one sure to garner support. Glimmer felt a surge of pride for Cato. She could tell that he was going to get a lot of sponsors after this interview.

"Now, I don't like to bring up a tribute's hopes, but word on the street is that you're the most accomplished fighter here--that you are the man to beat." Caesar emphasized his remark by pointing at Cato, jabbing with his finger on the word  _you_. "How does that feel? Are you feeling pressured at all?"

"No," Cato said. "I think I'm the man for the job." He sounded honest, straightforward, and confident. This was how it was, folks, take it or leave it. False humility got you right to the corner of no and where in the Hunger Games. "Like my District partner, I've got a preferred weapon. My personal favorite is the broadsword. It's a good, classic weapon, and it's brought me all the way here. But I'm an all-around champ, top of every class in my academy."

Glimmer knew for a fact that he was embellishing--he was only at the top of the combat and physical classes, but not the intellectual or academic classes, although he did a fair job in them. The academies didn't teach survival skills. They were all about the battle and the kill, giving the Capitol the show that they craved.

"So you think that you can win these Games?" Caesar prompted.

"Easily," Cato declared. Everyone believed him. Glimmer believed him. "I'm confident, I'm ready, and I've got what it takes. I'm here to do my District proud, and I'm going to do that by winning these Games, with one hand tied behind my back if that's what it takes."

It was clear by now, if it hadn't been before, that Cato was the shoo-in. He was the prize thoroughbred, the favorite to win.

"Well, with that kind of attitude, I don't see how you can fail," Caesar said. "And I know that you're going to make District 2 proud to have you as their tribute."

Glimmer smiled and clapped at the television along with the crowd in the theater. Honor was everything to Cato--upholding the code of battle, doing your best, making your people proud. This was everything to him. Glimmer wanted to run out and hug him as he made his way offstage. She wanted to throw her arms around him and whisper in his ear that he was brilliant, he did it, and his whole District must be cheering for him right that minute.

She noticed Diadem giving her a piercing look and she realized that she was still clapping. She stopped immediately, sinking back into the cushions. Her words of praise would just have to wait until she saw Cato that night.

The other interviews were boring. Mahi, one of their allies from District 4, tried to put on the sexy-but-tough act. She sounded like a fucking dyke. It was clear that nobody was going to beat Glimmer when it came to pure attraction.

Glimmer thought that Benji was a bit stiff. Didn't she know that she needed people to like her? Sure, showing how terribly clever you are is great, but with a cold, cut and dry attitude like that, nobody was going to help her. If only they knew how good that girl was at a hand job…

And then there was Katniss Everdeen. She got off to a rough start. Clearly, the long wait had given her nerves plenty of time to stew. Glimmer smirked. Caesar turned it around and got them laughing, but then,  _then_ , the girl started doing it on her own! She charmed the lot of them! She sounded so sweet and earnest--full of wonder for the Capitol fashion and her amazing stylist, giving just the right amount of naïveté to make people sympathetic. But she really got the waterworks going with the saving her little sister thing. She was determined to win and get back home, fulfill her promise to her family. Protection, honor, love, determination… the audience was enchanted. How quaint, how sweet, what a wonderful girl!

Glimmer felt like smashing something.

It got worse once Peeta Mellark took the stage. Okay, so his crush the size of District 11 was obvious to anyone with eyes, and he did a good job of the quietly pining for the popular girl thing, but honestly? Now he'd made that miner's daughter desirable, too! All the boys back home in love with her? For crying out fucking loud… And he was quite a catch, too. Anyone could see that. So a guy like that, in love with that beauty… their little 'Girl on Fire'…

Glimmer really, really wanted to smash something--preferably Katniss Everdeen's pretty little head. She needed revenge. She needed to kill something. She needed… well, any way to release this tension. The area between her shoulder blades was incredibly tense, and her jaw ached from clenching it. She had to get back in control, to focus, to  _relax_.

She needed Cato.

* * *

With any other girl, Cato would have said that she had no idea what she did to people. But this was Glimmer, so of course she knew. She'd planned this. She was leaving a good number of folks in the audience hard or wet thanks to her voice and provocative pose and gleaming eyes. She sounded like the richest wine or melted chocolate, and from his angle in the wings, her skin seemed to shine like it was sweaty and glowing from sex. Everything about her was screaming  _sex_. Fucking tease.

He folded his arms over his chest, barely able to contain himself. He wanted to march up to the stage and plop himself down on that ridiculously puffy chair and pull Glimmer into his lap, showing the Capitol and all twelve Districts just who she belonged to. His imagination went into overdrive and he could picture the scene with ease. She have her ass pressed into his lap, so she'd undoubtedly wiggle it against the hard-on that he already had. He'd sit up straight but she'd lean back into his chest, curling to the side a little (facing Caesar, though, because this was all about the interviews), her head lounging on his shoulder. He'd have one hand around her waist, resting right next to her lower belly. If he'd wanted to, he'd be able to make it move just a tad bit lower… he'd keep his other hand on her thigh where her leg was bare, rubbing little circles with his thumb and squeezing the toned, lithe appendage every so often. She'd have an arm around his neck, perhaps playing with the hair at the back of his neck, and a hand at his chest or maybe resting it on top of the one at her thigh. Either way, it'd be perfect.

Up on stage, Glimmer moved towards the audience, her sentence ending in a silky purr. She was giggly and flirty, dark and seductive, sensuous and calculating… she was submissive and dominatrix, schoolgirl and woman. She was sex, in whatever form, and the audience was lapping it up, because that was what she did. She manipulated. She took her biggest trait and made it into her strength, wielding it as well as any sword.

Did she manipulate him?

Cato thought back to her late-night confessions, the way she'd looked when speaking of the Avoxes. He remembered how she'd looked, listening to him as he disclosed his fear. He thought about how she'd stayed the night with him instead of leaving. Was it all just a lie? Was he just a better lay than most, something to keep her distracted, like a favorite pet? Or was he her biggest threat, and therefore the person she had to get in close to?

He hated this. He hated not knowing. He hated doubting himself and her. He hated the confused feelings that he didn't understand or want to acknowledge that were all fighting for attention in the back of his mind. He felt sick.

Glimmer finished, sealing the deal and leaving the audience anxious for more. They were addicted to her, just as he was. He was so glad that he'd decided to end this. This was wrecking him.

She sauntered past, giving him a look that made him so hard it hurt. She knew how turned on he was, and by the enlarged pupils and heaving breasts, she was pretty worked up as well. He wanted to mount her then and there. Seeing as that would lead to a shitload of trouble, he settled for ogling her ass as she flounced past him.

When he turned back to face the stage, he met Clove's piercing eyes. She looked pissed, which was kind of understandable, seeing as her partner-in-murder was now spending every spare moment fucking a member of the competition, but that wasn't what worried Cato. Clove actually looked… well… on anyone else he would have called it concern, but with someone like Clove, so hardhearted and twisted, you just didn't know. Still, she definitely wanted to talk to him about something.

He was going to get another fucking lecture after this, wasn't he?

Sure enough, once the interviews were over and they were all back in their apartments, Clove laid into him. Well, she kind of did. She didn't scream or yell, but her words were like a knife that'd been sitting on ice--cold and sharp.

"You're dancing on the edge."

"What?" Cato asked, confused.

"You're getting too close to the fire," Clove said, "And you're going to get burned." She was picking the nonexistent dirt out from under her nails with the blade of her smallest knife.

"We're not talking about that Everdeen girl--at least, I don't think we are--so English would be nice," Cato shot. He sounded sullen even to his own ears.

Clove gave him a sharp  _don't be an asshole_  look. "That Glimmer girl," she said. "You're getting into dangerous territory with her."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cato growled. "Why is everyone so concerned about this?"

"Because we're your team, Cato, and we look out for each other. That's how it's always been, remember? You and me, going to the Games." Clove sounded almost hurt. "And now you're with that ugly slut, and it's all that you can think about! You're losing your grip on what matters. I'm starting to think you might be in over your head."

"I can handle myself, okay!" Cato almost shouted. "She's fucking good in bed, all right? She takes away the stress. We're going to go into that arena in two days, and there'll be nothing but blood. I like it, you know I like it, there's nothing better, but the whole world is watching. Forgive me if I'm a little strained by that. I want to do my District proud, and it's pressure! She helps distract me from that pressure! Tell me that you don't get that."

"I don't," Clove replied with a shrug. She was looking at her nails, not watching his face. "I don't get stressed."

Cato snorted. "Yeah, you just explode and dig people's eyes out when things don't go your way."

"That was one time, and we all agreed that it was a perfectly legitimate form of revenge." She looked up, straight into Cato's eyes. "Don't try and change the subject, Cato. You're my partner. I look out for you, and you look out for me. It's the way things are. The two of us, we fit. We  _work_. You and her," The word was almost spat, loaded with loathing, "You're just… I don't know. You're certainly not a team. You're a time bomb."

"Clove," Cato said, surprised at her genuine worry. "This isn't going to change anything. We're still going to win these Games. Our District will chant our names for years to come."

Clove threw her knife to the floor in frustration. "But the two of us, Cato!" She snarled. "Are we okay? Are we still a team?"

Cato stared, unsure of how to respond. "What do you mean?"

"I mean can I count on you? Is your head in the game, or will you be distracted? Because once we get into the arena, it has to be all about the game. No dry humping or whatever the fuck you two get up to." Clove made a disgusted noise, her face twisting. "Sex is so disgusting…"

"You just think that 'cause you haven't tried it," Cato said. This was an old argument. "Go fuck Marvel or something, you look like you need it. It might make you less emotionally constipated."

Clove's look would have burned through steel. "Just keep your priorities straight, Cato. And remember where your loyalties lie. This is what we worked for all of our lives. We are destined to win."

"I know." Cato nodded. "You gotta trust me, Clove. I didn't throw a fit when you started spending all day carving up those bunnies, did I? Let me have my thing. I'll be there. I'm in this."

Clove's eyes pierced through his brain to the back of his skull and into the wall behind his head. "You better be."

* * *

Consciously, he made the decision to go to the training room to let off some steam. He had to work things out physically, because he was never good at the self-examination thing and brainwork wasn't his forte. Subconsciously, he went down there because he knew that's where she'd come to look for him.

"I'm wet for you."

Cato went off-balance on his backhanded slash and only got a shallow hit on the dummy. He turned. Glimmer was standing in the bare space of floor near the doorway, wearing a thin, sheer dressing gown and nothing else. Any patch of skin that wasn't covered was pink with arousal, and he could bet that the skin hidden underneath the flimsy bathrobe was just as hot and red. Her pupils were large, her hair tangled and cascading down her shoulders, framing her flushed face. Her lips were wet and parted, and her chest was heaving. She was wrecked just from thinking about him.

"What--got so caught up in your little act onstage that you actually soaked your pants?" Cato said cuttingly, putting the sword away. He wanted to keep away from her but his body had other ideas, stalking over towards her.

"I always get a little worked up when I'm putting on the act." Glimmer shrugged. "That's not it. It's you. The way you wore that suit, the things you said in the interview… that look in your eyes when I walked by…" She shivered. "I need you."

Ugh, he wanted her so badly. This was going to be difficult. Cato was absolutely not going to admit that she'd fucked up his head, and he wasn't going to straight up tell her to go away. That would lead to anger and tears and God knew what else. His goal was to get her so pissed that she left of her own accord.

"Gee, I feel so special,' he mocked.

Glimmer's eyes narrowed. "Something wrong?" She asked, concerned but suspicious. "Because normally you'd be tapping this right now."

"Am I that predictable?" He growled, angry.

"No, I'm that irresistible," Glimmer responded. The factual tone told him that no, she was not joking. Besides, Glimmer never joked about her looks or attractiveness.

This was getting out of hand. Why wasn't she screaming? Stamping her foot, demanding something, storming off? Why wasn't she being the spoiled child that her mentor (the smart one, not the pushover) and Cato and everyone who spoke with her knew that she was?

"Are you nervous because of the interview?" Glimmer asked. "Because you were great. I just know that you made your family and your District proud."

Cato had been pacing like a caged animal but stopped, staring at her. "How do you know that?" He asked, cutting and cruel.

"Because I was proud of you," Glimmer whispered hesitantly. She seemed unsure of how he'd react to the information, and pained that she was admitting something like that.

Fuck Tiber.

Fuck Clove.

Fuck Marvel, fuck the Gamemakers, and fuck Peeta Mellark with his declarations of love.

Fuck everyone.

Glimmer was  _his_.

He kissed her--no, devoured her. He consumed her mouth, stealing away her breath, sucking in her scent with his nose, nostrils flaring, clutching at her so tightly that he left tiny bruises the shape of his fingers. He crushed her against him, wrapping his arms around her and keeping her as close to him as he could possibly get her.  _Mine_ , the word echoed through his head.  _Mine_ , it pulsed with every thud of his heart.  _Mine_ , it rang as a chant in his ears.

"Yours," Glimmer breathed, and he realized that he must have said it out loud. "Yes, Cato, yours." There was desperation and resignation and a good bit of anger in her voice as she wound her arms around his neck, entrapping him as surely as he did her.

She was his, and he was hers.

Anyone else was welcome to go fuck themselves.

* * *

The problem with things that annoy you is that you can't get them out of your head. They keep coming back, wiggling into your brain and curling up and settling in for the long haul. Sometimes they even lay eggs, the seeds of other annoyances that spread like an infection until you go insane.

Katniss Everdeen was currently the annoying thing that wouldn't go away.

Glimmer lay alone in her bed, the covers tossed to the side. She was still so hot and tender from sex with Cato. She shivered violently at the remembrance. Sex had always been a bit rough with him--really, any form other than playful or tender. Sometimes she kind of wished that it were tender; slow, and sensuous, and affirming. But of course they didn't have that. They weren't that kind of couple.

But anyway, that night he hadn't just participated with her. He had  _claimed_  her, taken her, even. And she'd begged him for it. She remembered whimpering, her body limp and wild with want, whispering frantically,  _take me, take me, oh God yes please, I'm yours, all yours, harder, yes, harder…_

She wanted him all over again. She wanted to fuck him and have him fuck her until neither of them could even see straight or move or remember their names. But her body ached, especially between her legs, and morning would be here in a few hours. They couldn't afford such a luxury as banging their brains out.

Now, that little mountain goat was reasserting herself into Glimmer's consciousness. The baker boy's little secret was out. Glimmer wondered how the girl would be taking it. She remembered how Katniss had interacted with Peeta. She'd seemed to like the guy, although she'd been oblivious to how gaga he was for her. Glimmer remembered how the Capitol was starting to 'ship' them, just like on a television show. They'd even given them a shipper name: Everlark.

It was enough to make her gag.

Since she knew the truth, would Katniss realize she returned Peeta's affections? Would she give him some happiness before their inevitable bloody demise? Clove had staked claim on the girl and the boy wasn't going to last long, despite his strength, so it wasn't like the star-crossed babes would make it out of the woods. Perhaps she didn't let herself feel it. Perhaps she refused to acknowledge that she loved him. Things like that were too painful, led to stupid decisions and complications and…

No.

No, no, no, no, no…

She remembered how when she'd told Cato about Marvel and the others, she'd been suddenly terrified. An image had filled her mind, one of Cato rejecting her, calling her 'too dirty for him' and saying she was spoiled goods. She remembered how much she ached for him, craved him,  _needed_  him. She remembered how proud and happy she'd been for him during his interviews, and how she wanted nothing more than to congratulate him and show him how special he was.

But that didn't mean anything. None of it did. It couldn't.

Glimmer didn't love Cato.

She couldn't afford to.

Neither girl would ever know this, but like Katniss Everdeen, Glimmer was good at denial.

* * *

Glimmer tapped her foot, the sound making tiny echoes along the marble floor and walls. Every tribute was allowed to have a symbol from their district with them in the arena. It was supposed to be a comfort, a representation of where they came from and a reminder of who was counting on them. Nothing dangerous was allowed, however. Far be it from the Gamemakers to allow a tribute to win without having to play by the rules.

The officials were taking an awfully long time to clear her gemstone ring. It was gold, and the emerald that was the center gem matched her eyes perfectly. It would look great when she held it up in a triumphant fist, gleaming as she was declared the winner of the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

Finally, the officials returned. Glimmer could hardly contain her impatience. She held out her hand, expecting the head official to drop her ring into her palm. He didn't.

"I'm afraid that we have found your symbol to be against regulation," he explained.

"What? What are you talking about?"

The man held up the ring and twisted the emerald. The components of the ring shifted, turning it into a spike. Glimmer glowered. Well, shit. That was what she'd been planning on killing Clove with.

She wondered if the board had figured out that the gems also held poison that, when pressed, coated the blade. A nice little touch, really.

"I had no idea that it did that," she objected. "It was a gift from my mother. She made me promise to wear it!"

"Touching," the official said. It was too bored to be a sneer, but it was enough to make Glimmer glower and curl her lip. "But I'm afraid that we can't allow it. Next!"

And with that, they had moved on. Glimmer gave a scream of frustration, stamping her foot and storming off. She passed the Everdeen girl's stylist on the way out. She must have forgotten a symbol and the guy was getting one for her. She'd known stylists to do that before. Why, how sweet and incredibly fucking  _annoying_. Why did everybody like this girl so much?

Glimmer pitched a hissy fit, Copper's attempts to calm her only irking her more. When she insulted Copper, however, Diadem stepped in.

"You are behaving in a manner that would make any district ashamed of you!" She snapped. "You will excuse yourself from the room and not return until you can compose an apology to your mentor."

Glimmer didn't dare glare or whine at Diadem. She slunk off like an angry cat, humiliated and still seething. She heard Diadem say something to Copper as she headed towards the elevator.

"You have to be firm with her. Until she learns to control herself she's going to be a slave to her every whim and emotion. It'll get her killed."

Well, they'd see about that. Diadem was going to eat her words when Glimmer emerged from the arena victorious.

Glimmer took the elevator up to the rooftop. It was deserted, as usual. Nobody went up here. Why admire the garden or the view when you have to prepare yourself for battle? Beauty is a luxury for the living, not the doomed.

"Well, that was a show and a half," Cato grinned. He was lounging on a bench. Glimmer stomped over to him and plopped herself down at his side, her nose in the air.

"I don't see what's so amusing."

"You are," Cato said. He flung his arm around her shoulders and rested against the wall. Despite her frustration, Glimmer leaned into him, resting her head on his chest. That isn't to say she wasn't still peeved.

"They took my district symbol! What was I supposed to do, just stand there and thank them like a meek, spineless worm?" Glimmer pouted.

"No, but flipping out like that certainly didn't win you any points. You looked like a two year old. Everyone who didn't find it funny was a little disgusted."

"Like Diadem," Glimmer seethed. "She thinks she's so great, just because she won the Games in three days. I can do that! I can never do anything right in her eyes. I think she has it in for me."

"No…" Cato said. "I think she just sees through you. You can wrap people around your little finger. You can't do that with her, because the sappy-sweet stuff doesn't fool her, so you hate her."

"What are you, a fucking shrink?" The Capitol loved their shrinks. Everyone was convinced they had some kind of neurosis or whatever. Knowing the Capitol, they were probably right. When had she become so petty? She always had been, she supposed.

"I'm just saying." Cato shrugged.

Glimmer glared at him. She would never admit that he might have a point. Instead, she curled up against him and said nothing. They soaked up the sun together, eventually napping, waking up only when Cato's watch alarm in his suit alerted him that it was time for one last training session.

Neither of them mentioned that they'd just spent a couple of hours together without fucking once. In fact, they didn't say a word at all. They just… were together. And both of them were too scared to admit what that might mean.

* * *

The flight over to the arena had been a bit nerve-wracking. Everyone was so solemn and silent, with the tributes sneaking glances at each other when they thought the others weren't paying attention. Glimmer was in the same carrier as Peeta Mellark. He was staring down at his hands, lost in thought. He was probably thinking about Katniss. She was in the other carrier, with Cato. Glimmer didn't think about him.

When she was deposited in the preparation room, she was greeted with a warm, soothing hug from Cody. The woman pulled back, smiling. "You are such a star," she assured Glimmer, her voice a soothing murmur. "I just know you're going to dazzle them."

Glimmer nodded with more confidence then she felt. She was suddenly a mass of nerves and her stomach was threatening to give her breakfast an encore. This was what she'd been gearing up for her entire life. Why was she getting stage fright now?

She looked at her stylist. Cody had slightly dark skin--not like the District 12 stylist, Glimmer thought he was named after a spice or something--Cody's had a reddish tint to it. Her hair was dark and a little course but shiny and thick. She had warm eyes that seemed to soak up everything. When she smiled, her eyes actually darkened. It was intriguing to watch. Cody looked nothing like Glimmer's mother, and didn't act like her, either. Not really. Glimmer's mother was like an excitable bird, flighty and talkative, and she gave Glimmer whatever she wanted, praising her constantly and plying her with sweets and gifts when she was ornery. Her father was the same. But for some reason, at the moment, Cody reminded Glimmer of her mother despite the fact that they were polar opposites.

Glimmer opened her arms, like a baby waiting to be picked up, and Cody hugged her again, tightly. "I don't know," Glimmer admitted. What she didn't know was another question, one of many. She didn't know why she was nervous? She didn't know what to say? She didn't know what to think about Cato?

"You don't have to," Cody assured her, smoothing her hair. The stylist pulled back and gently turned Glimmer around. She began to hum a song, and Glimmer instinctively knew it was from Cody's culture, long ago, before the War, before the Capitol, perhaps even before the near-mythical United States. Cody carefully braided Glimmer's hair.

"We wouldn't want it to get in your way," Cody said, carefully weaving the strands of blond locks. Glimmer closed her eyes, allowing Cody to massaged her scalp and gently move her head. Even simple human interaction was a luxury now, and this would be the last kind act she'd receive for a long time. "There." Cody tied off the braid. "Now everyone will be able to see your beautiful face."

Glimmer turned around, smiling tentatively. She never knew how to smile just for the sake of it. Smiles that were meant to convey something, like coyness or flirtation, now that she could do. But a simple smile, as a thank you, an expression of joy? She'd only done that once before, in bed with Cato, and she was still out of practice.

Cody smiled back at her, her eyes darkening with emotion. In all the times that Glimmer had looked at her, she'd never realized that. She'd always wondered why, but now she knew. Cody's eyes darkened because they filled with emotion. This time, Glimmer dared to think they were filling with love.

"Twenty seconds," the cool, robotic female voice announced. Glimmer began to tremble. This was really happening. Before she knew it, tears were pricking her eyes. Ah, shit…

Cody turned her around and pulled her into another massive hug, wailing and crying about how Glimmer was so  _brave_  and she just  _had_  to make it out… Glimmer felt a huge rush of gratitude as Cody's fake tears masks the shuddering of Glimmer's body and the tiny sobs as she cried into the stylist's shoulder. After a couple of seconds she got a hold of herself and pulled back. She hadn't paid much attention to Cody before, but now she wished that she had. The woman had just comforted her, cared for her like a parent and preserved her dignity. Glimmer made a note to repay her as soon as she got out of the arena.

"Remember you're a star, Glimmer." Cody kissed her forehead.

Glimmer walked deliberately over to the glass tube. She stepped onto the pad and turned around.

"Ten seconds."

Cody waved, as if this were the beginning of the day and Glimmer was going to the school or the market and she'd be sure to see her for dinner. Cody pointed to her mouth and smiled, mouthing the word "Smile." This was a show. Smile big and wide for the crowd. Give them the shining star they expected.

Glimmer soaked in her last look at Cody. She kept her eyes on her as the platform rose, until she slid from her view. There were two seconds of silence, two heartbeats of nothing but her breathing and the smooth glass walls of the tube, and then…

Trees. The first things she saw were the trees. There were hundreds of them, all around her. Grass, and sky, and a few flowers scattered like candy across the ground, but mostly trees. Damn it. She hated the forest. She needed glass, concrete, cement… she needed to not be in nature! Fuck.

The glass tube lowered slowly, but the world stayed silent. Something glinted in the sun. Glimmer turned towards it. The Cornucopia. Of course. It stood there, golden and gleaming in the morning sun, so pristine it was almost ridiculous. Piled up inside, stuffed so full it was overflowing, were the weapons, food and other articles that would keep them alive. The placement looked haphazard, but Glimmer knew better. The less valuable supplies would be outside the Cornucopia, within easy reach. The real prizes were inside the structure.

A muffled 'ding' sounded, and Glimmer realized that the countdown had begun. A glowing circular screen on the front of the Cornucopia flashed the numbers, starting with twenty and working down. Glimmer looked around, scanning the faces of the tributes, seeking him out. She caught sight of Everlark having eye sex. He was shaking his head at her, almost imperceptivity. The stupid girl was going to do something reckless, and he was trying to stop her. Pathetic lovebirds. Glimmer moved on.

15…

Finally, her eyes alighted on the person she sought. Cato stood strong, his feet planted firmly and his back as straight as an iron rod. Glimmer watched as he exchanged a look with Clove. Jealousy stabbed her in the gut. She wished that she could communicate with him like that.

Cato turned and looked right at her. A dash of cold hit her, like ice sliding down her back. She realized that, although he hadn't even glanced her way until just then, he had always known where she was. His gaze was unfathomable but Glimmer reveled in it, inwardly rejoicing at his undivided attention.

10…

He began to silently form the words, telling her how many seconds they had left.

9…

It was all going to change in the next few moments. This was the culmination of all her training, all her preparation, all her parading around the Capitol. Everything had led to this.

8…

She should be focusing on the Cornucopia, on the tributes, on the Games, but she was lost in Cato's deep eyes.

7…

In six seconds, it would be a bloodbath. It would be adrenaline and steel and grunts and screams and sweat and pain but now, right now it was nothing, the Games were nothing, the universe was nothing. There was only Cato.

6…

5…

4…

3…

Cato gave her a small nod. Was it meant to reassure her? Affirm their alliance? Project confidence? She wasn't sure.

2…

Glimmer gave her fallback response: she smirked.

1…

They all took off sprinting.

* * *

"My jacket's fine," Cato complained, trying to wriggle out of Flutterby's grip. The stylist was making minute adjustments to his appearance that Cato felt were completely unnecessary at this stage. The time for parades and performances was over. Now, it was time for battle.

"I just want everything to be perfect," the stylist muttered feebly. She sighed. "Oh, and Tiber wanted me to tell you something."

Cato wasn't the kind of person to roll his eyes, but he shifted defensively.

"He said to remember what he'd told you," Flutterby recited, "And that in the Games, nothing and nobody is what they seem." She seemed a bit confused by the message.

Cato sighed. So, one more warning about Glimmer; he could handle that. But what was this bit about people not being what they seemed? Was that about Glimmer as well?

"Take care of yourself," Flutterby said. She bit her lip. "I mean, I'm sure you'll do well, I just…" She reached up and patted his cheek. "Just be careful, okay?"

She was such a sentimental person. Man, were all the Capitol stylists like this, all gooey and sappy and shit?

Cato nodded once, curtly. "I got it."

Without another word, he turned and crossed the room to the pedestal. He didn't look back or around him, but instead gazed straight upwards at where he was headed.

After the bare, artificial and yet dim light of the underground chamber, the simulated sunlight momentarily blinded him. He blinked, and the glowing, fuzzy edges faded away. He quickly scanned the area while the other tributes were still dazed. He noted each of their positions and the setting of the area. He didn't need to look for Glimmer. He felt where she was just like he felt a sword in his hand--a phantom limb, separate and yet attached to him.

The Cornucopia was hard to miss, with its shiny, flawless gold surface and the goodies it contained. Cato flexed and clenched his fingers, itching to get his hands on a weapon. He glanced over at Clove. She met his gaze with a razor-sharp stare of her own. As always, they were able to communicate soundlessly. There weren't even words formed; just instinctive sensations that conveyed a meaning only the other understood.

_Be ready. Remember the plan._

Cato acknowledged Clove warnings, and then gave a reminder of his own.

_Kill._

Clove's eyes gleamed.

Cato felt a tug at the base of his skull, like he was being pulled by a string. He turned, knowing instinctively whom he would see.

Glimmer's green eyes pulled him in, soaked into his body like he was a sponge and she was water. He drank in the sight of her, yet he did not forget what was to come. He realized that the timer had started, and he was counting down in his head.

10…

He whispered the words to her. She watched him, her gaze hungry.

9…

Not sexually hungry. Not that. Glimmer looked hungry for him in a different way. He wasn't sure. As a person, or an ally, or perhaps even a friend. A friend? Was that what they were? They were more than just allies, but he could hardly call their relationship typically friendly. He'd never really had friends, so he couldn't judge, but he was almost certain that friends didn't generally fuck each other senseless, or do any of the other things he and Glimmer got up to.

7…

Were they lovers, as Tiber had so bluntly put it? They weren't in love, though. They couldn't be. That wasn't how it worked. The idea of 'paramour' was far too foofy for him. It made him think of Finnick Odair, the stuck-up District 4 champion.

6…

He remembered what Tiber had said about Finnick and the other winner, the crazy one. Annie something. He mentally shoved such thoughts out of his mind. He had to focus.

5…

4…

3…

He nodded at Glimmer, hoping to convey his feelings to her. Whatever those feelings happened to be.

_We've got this. We're going to dominate, you and I. I've got your back._

He felt only the slightest tremor of shock that 'we' was not longer he and Clove, but he and Glimmer.

2…

She smirked at him, as if she'd followed his train of thought. He wanted to kiss that smirk right off her face. He banished that thought as well.

1…

He raced to the heart of the Cornucopia.

* * *

It was chaos--beautiful, elating, stark chaos. Glimmer's blood was singing as she moved among the tributes. She headed straight for the Cornucopia, swooping down and snatching a small axe without breaking her stride. She shifted, changing direction, searching for someone, anyone, to kill. Her eyes alighted on the boy from District 5. His fellow tribute, Benji, was nowhere in sight. She probably took off for the forest right away. Smart girl. She'd live a few days.

This boy would not.

Glimmer tapped him on the shoulder. The boy turned, startled. Glimmer smiled sweetly.

"Hello."

She swung the axe, cutting right through the tendons in his neck, getting about halfway through before her momentum and strength failed and she had to place her foot in his chest to get the leverage needed to pull the axe out. Blood spurted from his neck across her chest, sprinkling the grass like macabre raindrops. The boy's mouth opened and shut silently as his throat gurgled and he drowned in his own blood. She twisted the axe, holding it backhanded, and slashed at him again. This time, he went down.

Glimmer turned, gazing around at the scene. Marvel pulled his spear out of a dead body and flung it at the girl from District 3. She fell to the ground, arms and legs jerking before she sprawled on the grass. Clove pitched a knife and watched with savage joy as the boy from District 10 crashed to the ground like a felled tree, the blade right between his eyes.

The big guy from 11, Thresh, had just clobbered a kid from 6 who was in his way. The kid fell, stunned, giving Koi the opportunity to swoop in and bludgeon him to death with a mace. That meant five were down, including her kill, and all by Careers. That was all well and good, but they weren't the people she sought.

There was a cry of fear, and a thud. Glimmer followed the sound and found Cato. He had found a sword, and was wielding it so naturally that anyone would think he'd been born with it attached to his arm. The small, curly-haired boy lay crumpled behind him as he stood in the very mouth of the Cornucopia. The cry had come from a girl from 9 as she fell, her upper chest completely slashed open. Cato stalked over to her, kicking her over so that she was gazing up at him. He plunged the sword into her chest. The body writhed momentarily, and then stilled.

It was the sexiest thing Glimmer had ever seen.

As Cato withdrew his sword from the warm, soft corpse, he looked up. His eyes met Glimmer's and she saw the gleam of bloodlust, the lightning thrill of battle, the dark surge of power. She knew that he could see her lust--both for him and for the kill. He grinned, gesturing with his sword at the Cornucopia and the bloody field around them.  _This is all ours._

A blur streaked past Glimmer, and then another--Mahi was chasing down another tribute. She jumped him, sending the two of them sprawling, but quickly got the upper hand and began to strangle him, beating his head against the ground. Glimmer had seen worse deaths, but it was enough to bring her back to the present. Kill as many tributes as possible.

She whirled, twirling the axe, searching out her prey. She saw Clove aiming for another victim, this time in the back. Behind her was another girl, from 7 or 8, trying to quietly crawl away unnoticed. Glimmer smiled, prancing up to her. The girl didn't even notice Glimmer's presence until she placed the heel of her boot into the girl's back and shoved the pathetic wimp face-first into the dirt. The girl twisted to fight back but never got the chance--Glimmer drove the axe in, splitting her skull.

Deciding she was bored with that particular weapon, Glimmer left it in, turning to head into the Cornucopia and grab something new. She caught Cato grinning at her. He looked like he wanted to eat her alive. So watching her kill turned him on, same as her. Oh, they were going to have such fun with this…

"Anyone left?" Marvel asked.

Glimmer looked around, realizing that other than the dead and the Careers, there was no one left.

"I got him!" Koi called, holding up the boy from District 3 by the back of his jacket. The boy struggled, twisting and turning, but he couldn't escape the older boy's iron grip.

"Let me go!" The boy yelled.

"Aww, look at him! He's like a little puppy," Clove said, stalking over. "I hate puppies. They're pathetic."

The boy still struggled, glaring at her.

"What's your name?" Clove asked.

"Piston," the boy replied automatically.

"All right then, Piston," Clove said. "We'll gladly let you go." Piston was so surprised that he stopped struggling. "We'll just kill you instead."

There was a pause as her words sank in. Piston's eyes widened, and he gulped. "I'll… uh… stay with you guys. Whatever you say."

"I thought so. Smart boy." Clove nodded.

Glimmer didn't know if Piston had guessed this or not--he seemed intelligent, but hope can provide strong blinders--but they weren't going to let him live. He'd do what they needed him to, and then he'd die. Slowly and painfully, if Clove had any say in it.

"Looks like it's about noon," Clove noted, already moving on. "Time to set up camp."

They all looked at each other, and then bolted for the Cornucopia. Soon the clearing was filled with the sounds of whooping and cheers rather than screams and the clash of weapons. The Cornucopia was always filled with goodies, but they'd really hit the jackpot that year--at least, that was how it felt to them. Glimmer spied a beautiful silver bow-and-arrow set. While not her strongest skill set, she thought she was pretty good. There was also a chest full of knives. Clove took most of them--nobody questioning her right to first dibs--but Glimmer snagged two nice ones. Cato stood drooling for several minutes over the rack of heavy medieval weaponry, especially the several swords that gleamed in the sun. And besides the weapons, there was the food and the creature comforts.

Thermal blankets, cookware, rope, first aid kits, and other odds and ends. There were even pillows--real pillows! The food was literally overflowing. Three bags of apples, two huge tins of soup along with miniature cans, water, energy drinks and bars, bags of seeds and nuts, dried strips of meat, bags of veggies, oranges, cherries, sausages and eggs… anything they could possibly want for a quick, tasty meal, all theirs for the taking. This was going to be so easy… the Capitol might not strictly favor Careers, but they sure didn't make it difficult for them to win.

The first order of business, after splitting up the weapons, was making sure that nobody else got the chance to steal their spoils. That was where Piston came in. As planned, they dug up the disabled mines, re-planting them (with a hidden path laid out) around the immense pile of food, weapons, and other supplies. Then Piston set the mines up again so that if anyone stepped on them… well, it would save them the trouble of getting their weapons dirty.

By late afternoon, everything was ready to go. Now it was time to hunt.

Personally Glimmer was happy to wait until morning. She'd just spent the entire morning killing, and digging, and piling stuff up into a massive, haphazard pyramid, and frankly she wanted to lie down and get some rest. But Clove insisted that the other tributes would be too frantic, and still too new at this, to be in the proper mindset. They'd slip up.

"I want at least one more kill before tonight," Clove growled. "And if we find that Katniss, she's mine."

"Yours?" Glimmer frowned, folding her arms and cocking her hip. "How come  _you_  get to kill her?"

"I nearly had her this morning! I knifed the guy she was tussling with, but when I went for her she blocked it with her backpack. So she's mine. Anyone who has a problem with that can challenge me for her." Clove glared at each of them in turn, but her gaze lingered a little longer on Glimmer. Nobody challenged her. Besides the whole borderline-sadistic thing, they could all understand the frustration of the one that got away. "Good," she snapped. "Now let's go.

They all marched off, each carrying a weapon. Cato pinned Piston down with his stare as he walked by the boy. Piston was about half Cato's size, and a third of his weight. "Stay here and guard the supplies," Cato instructed.  _Or else,_ he didn't need to add.

Glimmer tripped over the body of Clove's second kill--it was the almond-eyed boy from District 9. She felt a hand at her elbow, keeping her from falling, and looked up. Cato was there, his mouth quirking up into a barely-there smirk.

"Nice job with that axe," he said quietly. Glimmer smiled and batted her eyes.

"Thanks. Three kills…" She hummed, raking her eyes over his body.

Cato closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were decidedly darker. "Later," he promised her, his voice low and lustful.

They walked quietly through the forest, bunched together in a group but making little sound. None of them were particularly trained in walking silently through the woods, but they had all taken the sneak-attack lessons. They knew how to make themselves unnoticed.

The problem wasn't their noise, or lack thereof; the problem was that there weren't any little rabbits out to play. Glimmer could just picture them all, curled up in the nearest hidey-hole they could find, shivering with fear and jumping a mile at every snap of a twig.

By the time the sun was beginning to set, they still hadn't killed once. Clove was becoming so tense that the air around her vibrated. Marvel stuck his tongue out at her behind her back, but everyone else kept a safe distance. Koi and Mahi seemed bored. Cato was at the front of the group, his eyes roaming around as he searched for any sign of human life. Glimmer kept herself at his side, just a little behind him. The few times they stopped, for a water break or something, she would make sure to stop just a step after he did, so that her breasts pushed up against his back and arm for a second before she stepped back. She could tell how stiff his shoulders were that she was driving him nuts. Maybe that was why he was at the front. That way no one could see his raging hard-on.

She was just about to suggest that they give this up, go back to the Cornucopia, and call it a night when Cato stopped abruptly. That time she honestly didn't try to run into him--it just happened.

"Smoke," Cato said. He jerked his head. "Over there."

Glimmer looked in the direction he'd indicated. Sure enough, there was a tiny column of smoke, rising into the velvet blue air. She grinned. Maybe this hunting thing hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

"Stay quiet," Clove warned them with a hiss. Glimmer rolled her eyes. As if she needed reminding. They weren't amateurs.

They approached the little campfire silently, like shadows that had no owner. As soon as they were practically in her lap, they stepped into the light and let the girl see them. She looked a little like a drowned mouse, cold and shivering, breathing hot air into her hands and rubbing them to try and warm up. Glimmer smirked.

The girl froze, gaping in fear as she saw them emerge from the trees. Cato stepped forward, passing Glimmer his sword to hold. Glimmer took it, too entranced at watching him in predator mode to bother complaining about not being his caddie.

Cato's smirk was as broad as ever as he approached the girl.

"Watch this, guys," he said, like he was about to flip off of a diving board or something. He hauled the girl up like she was a rag doll. She let rip an ear-splitting scream that half the arena must have heard. "She looks kinda like a pig, don't you think?" He asked, holding the girl up for inspection.

Glimmer cocked her head. "She does, a little."

"I love roasted pig," Clove said, her smile worse than that of the Joker. "Shall we put her over the fire?"

"No!" The girl cried. "Don't kill me! Please don't kill me!" She begged desperately. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes as she frantically tried to escape Cato's grip. Glimmer had been held by those hands before--there was no escape, girlie.

"What do you think?" Cato asked the other three.

"Just run her through," Koi said, yawning. Those two were clearly going to be the first to go once it got down to just the Careers; their boredom would be deadly.

"Burn her," Clove said. She sounded like she was a witch in Shakespeare.

"Just dash her head in," Marvel suggested.

"I'd like to see you do it with your bare hands," Glimmer said. She remembered what those hands could do to her and felt heat pour into her lower regions. Could Cato kill with just his hands, no weapons required?

He grinned at her, and the girl dropped to the ground. She rolled and then got up on her feet, preparing to run away. Cato grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to turn around and face him. The girl saw the expression on his face and whimpered. Cato's expression was nothing but savage joy as he took her head in his hands and twisted. There was a snap, and the girl slumped to the ground, her head at an absurd angle. The muffled boom of the canon sounded in the arena.

Glimmer could hardly breathe. She wanted to jump his bones right there and then. Cato grinned at her. She could hardly wait to get back to the Cornucopia.

* * *

They had just started back for their camp when he heard it: the sound of someone moving through the trees behind them. Cato whirled, his sword at the ready. "Show yourself," he demanded. There was no answer. "Show yourself or die."

"Okay, okay, I'm coming out. Don't hurt me." Why did they always say that? As if they actually expected mercy. It was ridiculous.

Cato nearly rolled his eyes when he saw who it was. Peeta Mellark, capital-L Lover Boy himself, stepped out of the foliage, his hands held up by his head.

"I'm unarmed, see?" The blonde teen said, turning slowly to show his lack of weapons. He was strong, and well built, but still a good head shorter than Cato was. And without proper training, Cato doubted that the baker's son could mount a proper attack using only his hands. Cato lowered his sword a little.

"Hey guys," he called. "Look what I found."

"What is it?" Glimmer bounded up, laying her hands on his arm. "Ooh!" She grinned. "Let's hope his little girlfriend's nearby. Then Clove can have her revenge and we can all stop having to deal with her."

Speak of the devil. Clove approached, followed by the half-asses from 4 and Marvel. Clove's eyes lit up upon seeing Peeta. "Where is she?" She demanded. "Where's Katniss?"

"She's not here," Peeta said. Cato raised his sword. "But I can find her!" Peeta added quickly. "I know what to look for!"

"Do you?" Cato scoffed. He didn't believe him.

"No, no, let's listen to him," Clove said. She walked up until she was right in Peeta's face. "You say you can lead us to her?"

Peeta nodded. "Yup."

"What about the whole 'hopelessly in love for years' bit?" Clove asked. The others chuckled, including Cato. What? It was funny.

"Don't get me wrong," Peeta said. "Katniss is fantastic. But I'm no Romeo. I'd rather live."

Clove nodded. "Perfect." She started to turn away, but whipped back to face Peeta again. "If you're lying, I will personally cut you to pieces. Starting with that lying tongue of yours."

For some reason, Peeta's eyes flicked over to Cato. Cato gave a nod, affirming Clove's statement. He'd grown up with that girl--she did not give empty threats.

Peeta swallowed and looked back at Clove. "I got it," he said, nodding.

"Good." Clove turned and began to walk back towards the Cornucopia. "Bedtime."

The others followed, with Cato and Glimmer taking the rear. He wanted to keep an eye on their newest addition to the group. Glimmer was practically skipping, flipping her hair and generally being rather perky. They were still a little high from their latest kill, and the fact that Cato had practically promised her sex earlier was probably what was putting her in such a good mood. Her cheerfulness must have been rubbing off on him, because he grinned at her as they moved through the forest.

"Did you see the look on her face?" Glimmer said, her hands clutching at the air as she threw her head back. Cato chuckled as she began to imitate the dead girl. "Don't kill me!" She whirled and clutched at Cato's arm, begging him. "Please don't kill me!"

Cato laughed. Say what you would about her, but Glimmer definitely had a sense of humor. A twisted one, yes, but so did he so what did it matter? Cato stopped chuckling when he realized that Peeta had fallen behind. Again.

"Hey Lover Boy," he turned, calling back to the tribute. "Hurry up."

Peeta picked up his pace a little, skirting past the two of them like they were going to bite him.

"Can't we just kill him?" Glimmer asked in a stage whisper. She seemed annoyed at Peeta's presence, and Cato couldn't figure out why until she flicked her eyes down to his groin. Oh, yeah; one more person to worry about while they tried to find privacy that night.

"We need him," Cato reminded her. "He's the only one who can lead us to her."

Glimmer rolled her eyes. Cato caught her arm and pulled her against him, leaning down so that only she could hear his next words. "He's not going to get in the way of our fun," he promised her. He felt Glimmer quiver in his arms before she pulled away with a teasing smirk.

"C'mon then," she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him along. He followed her, their hands intertwined, all the way back to the Cornucopia.

If Piston was surprised at their new member, he was smart enough not to say anything. They all grabbed something to eat and lay out the sleeping bags they'd found in the Cornucopia, curling up to sleep. Peeta was placed in between Clove and Marvel so that he wouldn't try and run away. Clove was the lightest sleeper that Cato had ever known, and both her knives and Marvel's spear would be fast enough to pierce Peeta even if he managed to get a bit of distance on them before they realized he was missing. Koi and Mahi put their bags near one another, on either side of Piston. The kid was too terrified to attempt anything, so the two of them should be enough to intimidate any stupid thoughts out of his head.

Cato set out Glimmer's bag next to his, right near the mouth of the Cornucopia. They were all sleeping out under the stars, ready to go should anything happen in the night. He then lay down on his bag, waiting for the others to fall asleep. Glimmer sat on her pad, twirling her hair and inspecting herself to get rid of any bits of dirt. It took a bit for everyone to fall asleep, especially because everybody wanted to stay awake and watch the announcement of the day's victims. They had all been Career kills. As each face flashed in the sky, projected onto the massive, invisible dome, the tribute's killer would point and yell in triumph. Cato knew how many kills he had: three. It turned out that he had the most kills of the day. Clove, Marvel, and Glimmer had each bagged two. Koi and Mahi had each only gotten one.

"They're pathetic," Glimmer whispered, leaning in towards him.

Cato nodded. "We'll get rid of them soon."

It was almost painful, the waiting, but after the Capitol announcement it only took about ten minutes for the others to all fall asleep. Once the only sound in the clearing was deep, even breathing, Cato stood.

"Follow me," he growled.

Glimmer stood and allowed him to lead her into the very back of the Cornucopia. There were no cameras in there, so they couldn't be filmed. Who knew what the Gamemakers would think if they saw what they were about to do. Cato waited until Glimmer turned to him before pinning her against the curved wall of the structure.

"Oh, yes," she breathed, her voice shaking a little. She laughed breathily. "I've been wanting you to do this all day." She rubbed her body against him, up and down. "Watching you kill… Mmm… it made me so hot and ready for you…"

Cato growled again, pushing her a little harder into the wall. "Likewise," he admitted savagely. "I wanted you right on the battlefield."

"Then take me now," Glimmer begged him. "Take me."

He didn't have to be told twice.

* * *

They did it against the wall the first time, but it wasn't enough to stave off the primal hunger lapping at their bodies, so the second time found them with Cato sitting, his back against the wall, and Glimmer straddling his lap. They'd never done this angle before. She loved it. She had such control, and every time she sank down on his dick he hit her right  _there_ , so deep and so hard she couldn't even scream, only pant frantically like a dog as she rocked fast and furious on him.

Cato seemed to love this as well, because he got full access to her body and a great view. He ran his hands over her skin, squeezing her waist, fondling her breasts and clutching her neck, tipping it so that he could kiss her. Glimmer remembered that those same hands, the ones that touched her like this, had just a couple of hours ago caused the death of a girl. He had snapped the girl's neck in less than a second. Now, he was massaging Glimmer's ass. Cato was a killing machine. He could kill her right then. He  _wouldn't_ , but he  _could_ , and the combination of the two sent delicious chills dancing through her body, spurring her on. She moaned, desperate. She wanted to reach orgasm already, but she also didn't want this to ever end.

"Glimmer… ah, shit, you gotta… I'm gonna…" Cato grabbed her and forced her to hold still, pounding up into her. Glimmer cried out helplessly, unable to move between the pleasure he was giving her and the strength of his hands.

"Cato!" She screamed as he came, the feel of his seed gushing into her finally tipping her over the edge. She slumped forward, collapsing onto him, sticky white fluid running down her thighs.

They'd never bothered with a condom. They hadn't thought about it the first couple of times, and when the idea had occurred neither of them was too keen on asking someone for them--even an Avox. There hadn't been any in the supplies at the Cornucopia, either. But why let a technicality ruin their fun? She was healthy, getting her shots and her checkups regularly and always being good before, at home where she knew where to buy them at a place that didn't ask questions. Cato said that he was healthy, admitting to receiving blowjobs most of the time and always strapping on the rare occasion he liked a girl enough to fuck her. So they were clean, and they both (clearly) knew what they were doing. No need to worry.

When she finally had enough presence of mind to remember her own name, Glimmer slid off of him. She felt numb and limp and tingly all over, and all she wanted was to crawl into her sleeping bag and sleep for days. Instead, she settled for grabbing the disinfecting wipes they'd taken from one of the first aid kits and cleaning herself off. Cato took care of himself and they put their clothes back on, tiptoeing back to the others and sliding into their bags without another word.

Her eyelids were so heavy they felt like they were made of cement. Just before sleep completely smothered her, she felt Cato drape his arm over her. She scooted closer and snuggled against him, drifting off to the sound of his heartbeat in her ears.

* * *

It was early the next morning when it happened. Cato was drying off his face after washing it with water when he felt another presence. He looked up to see Peeta standing there, staring down at him.

"What do you want?" Cato asked, standing as well.

"I heard you two last night."

Cato tried to decide if it was worth punching him if he had to explain to Clove the reason why. Figuring it was too much effort to try and lie to her, he settled for glaring at the boy.

Peeta put up his hands. "Hey, I don't care. I was just going to ask that you two be a little less… rowdy next time. I couldn't sleep."

"We'll be as loud as we fucking please," Cato growled. "You're at the bottom of the food chain here, Lover Boy. We do what we want, and you do as your told. Got it?"

He started to stalk back towards the camp.

"You know, we're not so different, you and I."

Cato turned and walked back to him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You and her." Peeta nodded towards Glimmer, who was stretching in a sunny patch of grass by the Cornucopia. "Me and Katniss."

Cato leaned in. "You get this through your thick, love-addled brain right now, boy: you and I are nothing alike."

Peeta just stared at him, refusing to back down on this point. Cato snarled in frustration and spun on his heel, heading back to the others. He had no idea what the village idiot was thinking. They had nothing in common. Cato was a fighter, bred to fight and win; this guy was only in the Games by sheer unluckiness. As for his relationship with Glimmer… that was about as far from puppy love as you could get. They'd fucked more times than he could count, and he trusted her with a lot, but this was the Hunger Games. You didn't fall in love during those, not unless you were phenomenally stupid, like this guy clearly was.

No way. He and Peeta Mellark were nothing alike.

* * *

Glimmer was losing patience. She had never been the most serene or tolerant person, but this was beyond endurance. She'd even go so far as to say the mountain brat was leading them in the wrong direction, if she wasn't so certain that he was too afraid for his life to do so.

"I'm sick of this," she finally spoke up. "Let's head towards the river, see what we can find. There are always tributes around water."

They'd slashed their way until only Katniss, the two tributes from 11, and Benji were left outside of their little Career group. Piston was back at the Cornucopia, guarding the supplies again.

"Sounds like a good idea. Clove?" Cato asked. Everyone was naturally turning to Cato as the leader, and Cato turned to Clove, which meant that the girl ended up making all the decisions. It was probably a good idea, since Clove had the most brains out of all of them. Hey, Glimmer was perfectly willing to admit when something wasn't her area of expertise.

Speaking of which, she still hadn't managed to make a kill with the bow and arrows yet. It was annoying.

"Let's try it," Clove agreed.

Everyone immediately began to skip and jog towards the great, twisting river that snaked through the arena, dividing it pretty much in half. Marvel started whooping, and that got everyone else started, and soon they were laughing and carrying on and having a grand old time for no reason whatsoever. You had to hand it to him--Marvel's funnyman look-at-me nature was catching.

Clove snaked her hand out, snatching Glimmer's wrist and holding it tightly. Glimmer turned and glared at the pint-sized girl. She might have managed to give the other tributes a scare, but Glimmer refused to let Clove intimidate her.

"Let go," Glimmer hissed.

Clove literally snarled. The little weasel. "I know what you're thinking." Her voice was cold and soft, like a sword sliding over skin. "You can't have him."

Glimmer experienced a flicker of confusion before she realized what the girl meant.

"We trained together. He's my partner, from my district." Clove's voice continued to cut the air. "It's already decided how this will go. Killing him is my right, and mine alone. You have no place in any of this. Got it, slut?"

Of course she'd figured out what Glimmer had done. "What? Jealous that I didn't choose you?" Glimmer retorted haughtily. "You could do with a good fingering."

Clove's eyes blazed, two dark coals surrounded by flame. "I'd call you a whore," she hissed, "But you don't even bother to charge. You aren't fit to lick my boots, much less kill Cato. Fuck him all you want to--I don't give a flying rat's ass. You can have his cock, but his death belongs to me."

She released Glimmer's wrist and stalked after the others. Glimmer glared after her, wishing the little bitch would activate a booby trap and die. Clove didn't fall into a hidden pit or anything, unfortunately, and after a moment Glimmer hurried to catch up to the others. She unconsciously fell into step beside Cato. His very presence was soothing, somehow.

However, Clove's comments had created a niggling little thought in her head. All attempts to quash it were fruitless. Glimmer feared it had to do with the warm, slick, fluttery feeling that stole over her at the mere thought of Cato. She was able to hold the annoying thought-worm at bay for the rest of the afternoon, but that evening it would no longer be ignored. Every time she tried to shake it off, it burrowed in deeper. She refused to give it a proper name, focusing not on the emotion but the action.

She would let Cato kill her.

* * *

They'd treed her. They'd fucking treed her! Finally! It took them fucking long enough. Two days they'd scoured the arena. Cato was beginning to think that Peeta was leading them on a wild goose chase.

"Watcha gonna do now, Katniss?" Clove taunted, grinning viciously.

"Nowhere for you to run, bitch!" Marvel whooped.

Cato approached the tree, examining it. He looked up at Katniss. She was clearly injured, clutching her right leg, her face pale and drawn. If she could climb this tree in that condition, then so could he.

Grabbing at the nearest knots in the tree, his short sword in one hand (one of the many he'd found at the Cornucopia), he pulled himself up and started to climb. Everyone was yelling encouragement from below.

"Get her, Cato!" Marvel yelled.

"Kill her, Cato!" Clove demanded.

"That's it! You got this!" Glimmer said, the only one who was truly encouraging.

He got up about six feet when the branch he was holding onto snapped off. He managed to keep his grip with his other than, though, and was able to pull himself up a few more feet before he slipped and fell. Landing spread-eagled on the ground was far from pleasant. Glimmer huffed in frustration.

"I'll do it," she snapped, pulling out an arrow and fitting it on the bow. Cato knew how much she'd wanted to make a kill with it. Glimmer liked to switch from weapon to weapon. Another instance of getting bored and looking for a new novelty, he supposed, although it could be that she liked surprising people, as nobody knew what weapon she was going to choose.

Glimmer pointed the bow at Katniss and fired. Cato got to his feet, watching as the arrow missed the cunt by a good couple of inches.

"Let me try," he said. Glimmer handed the bow over reluctantly. He selected and arrow and aimed, firing. He only got about a half an inch closer than Glimmer did. He glowered when she laughed.

"Maybe you should… throw the sword…" Katniss called down to them weakly. She was trapped in a tree and making jokes? Bitch.

"Why don't we just wait her out?" Peeta asked. They all turned to him. "She has to come down eventually."

Cato looked over at Clove, and saw that she was thinking the same thing he was. They would go with Peeta's suggestion… for now.

"Right," Cato said, still frustrated. "Somebody build a fire." He stalked off in search of wood. Glimmer followed him, while Marvel and Clove set off in another direction. Koi and Mahi settled down to guard the tree. Peeta stared up at Katniss for a minute before Clove called back to him,

"Hey, Lover Boy! You're with us!"

Peeta followed obediently.

Cato slashed randomly at plants as he walked along, not really looking for any firewood, just letting off steam.

"We'll get her, just you wait," Glimmer cooed, wrapping her arms around his. Cato said nothing. "Don't tell me you're getting as obsessed with her as Clove is."

"I just want her out of the way," Cato admitted. "She's been nothing but trouble to us ever since she showed up. She even outdid me in the ranking! A fucking eleven! I want her dead. I don't care how, I just want her dead." He stabbed his sword into a tree where it embedded itself, quivering slightly.

"Well, if that's the only way you're going to de-stress," Glimmer said, "Then I hate to tell you but you're in for a long night." Her hand was on her hip again. "Unless, of course, there's another way to let out all of that… tension…"

She slipped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso. "You don't want her, do you?" She asked, her mouth moving against his shoulder.

Cato snorted. "No. She's not my type."

"Oh? And what is your type?" Glimmer asked coyly.

"It used to be blondes in general," Cato divulged. "Now it's you."

He turned just in time for Glimmer to kiss him, raking her nails down his chest. "Good," she gasped into his mouth. She groaned as he gripped her hips.

"And you?" He asked, tonguing her ear. "What about you?"

"You're my only type now," Glimmer sighed with pleasure as he bit her lip. They both loved the biting. "It's only you."

He picked her up, turning her and pressing her against the tree, right next to the sword. "Oh, no, you don't," Glimmer hissed. "I'll take you any which way you want but not against this tree. It's going to scratch like a motherfucker."

"Well, how do you want to do it?" Cato asked.

Glimmer looked around them. "Well…" She said eventually. "We haven't tried behind yet…"

Cato's head swam with the images running through his mind's eye. The fantasies  _that_  brought to life…

Without further ado he swung her around. Glimmer planted herself on the ground, tilting her ass up so that he could get a good eyeful. "C'mon. Let's do it like animals. We  _are_  in the wilderness."

"If you don't stop it with the dirty talk, I'm not going to last and you're going to be very unhappy," Cato warned her, dropping his pants.

"Nah. I can always finish myself off if you're not man enough to get me to scream." Glimmer shrugged.

Cato never backed down from a challenge, even a snide one like that. He made her scream, all right, not caring if every camera in the arena filmed their tryst. It wasn't like they were going to show it on the television screens. Violence they televised in abundance, sure, but this? He doubted it. So he pumped into her with abandon, feeling wild and primal, guttural noises emerging from his throat that he'd never thought he was capable of making. It was new, it was exciting, and it was so damn good. He'd have to insist they do it this way more often. It helped that it felt like Glimmer was enjoying it, too, letting loose just like he was, with the craziest, most erotic noises emerging from her throat. From this angle he could reach around to the front and work her with his fingers, sliding through her dirty-slick folds and rubbing at the spot that made her scream. He'd never thought that sex could be so base and yet so… so natural, so right.

When they made it back to the tree, everybody stared at them. "Where were you?" Marvel asked. Clove just glared, infernos raging in her eyes.

"I had to clear my head," Cato said. "That bitch is getting under my skin. Glimmer hear decided to tag along."

"He's completely unmanageable," Glimmer huffed. Cato had to admit that she wasn't lying about that. Only Clove could exert any measure of control over him.

Glimmer plunked down onto the ground by the campfire. Cato seated himself next to her. The flickering flames reminded him of the weapons factories back home, and he picked up his blade. Turning it in his hands, he watched as the spectrum of warm color was reflected within the cold steel. He stuck the tip of the blade into the fire, watching it heat up. Silver into gold, solid into liquid, cold into heat. When he pulled it out, it was nearly impossible to look at. He spit on it, just to see what the reaction would be. The spittle hissed and bubbled. Glimmer gave a fake giggle.

"Oh, please," she said, trying to sound unimpressed. Cato hated it when girls did that--seeing a boy just having fun, thinking he was showing off, and acting all annoyed and superior. He wanted to make a sharp retort, because Glimmer wasn't normally like that with him (or hadn't been since the start of this whole deal), but then he remembered that they weren't alone. There were the others.

Socially conscious, manipulative Glimmer, always caring about appearances, was putting on a show. She must have been annoyed or nervous about the others' curiosity, and sought to put to rest any whispers. He grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes but smirked, biting her lower lip. It was the same lip that he'd bitten earlier, almost hard enough to make it bleed. That made him grin even wider.

As the fire dimmed and they settled into sleep, Cato noticed Peeta looking up at the silent girl in the tree. She hadn't moved all night. He wondered if Lover Boy was regretting his decision to turn her in.

Cato lay down, pulling Glimmer into him. She sprawled on top of him, using his arm as a pillow. He wound his fingers through her hair, wondering. Wasn't he going to have to do the same thing to Glimmer once everyone else was out of the way? After the non-Careers were gone, and District 4 had been taken care of, it would just be the four of them. Marvel he would have no problem dispatching, and he and Clove had an agreement that went years back. But Glimmer… he was going to have to turn her in, in a way, just as Peeta had.

The thought made him uncomfortable, but he tried to push it out of his mind. He must not have been entirely successful, however, because he had nightmares all night, nightmares about darkness and choices and strange howling noises, but when he woke up he could not properly recall what had happened.

* * *

Glimmer stared up at the dark leaves, tiny black holes in an artificial sky, blocking out the artificial clouds. Despite Cato's steady breathing and the warmth of his body, she couldn't sleep. Her mind was too awake, zooming with possibilities that had formerly been too scary, too earth shattering, to contemplate. But now there was nowhere to run. She had to face it.

It made sense. It all fit together. Glimmer was surprisingly logical when she had to be. Well, it would have been surprising to others. She knew she was capable of logic; she just generally ignored it. Now she applied it to her situation. She was rather calm, given her ultimate decision. It was the only course available to her. All of her inner turmoil had vanished, leaving her with a peace of mind so complete and foreign that it was almost unnerving. Almost. She was resolved in her course.

Like finding the key puzzle piece that allowed all the others to fall into place, the keystone in her logic trail had been the epiphany that she could not kill Cato. Clove need not fear competition. Even if her life depended on it--hell, her life  _did_  depend on it--she just couldn't do it.

But she would have to. They couldn't emerge together. As much as it pained her (and it was the most painful thought she'd ever had), there could only be one victor. The full force of the idea, the true significance of it, had never struck her until now. Now it weighed upon her like a stone tied to her neck. And since she couldn't kill Cato, she couldn't be the victor, and she refused to allow anyone but him take her place.

She realized that she valued his life more than her own.

The solution, therefore, was simple. She would ensure that it was down to Cato and herself. Then, once all competition had been eliminated, she would let him kill her. He'd promised that he'd make it swift and painless, and she knew he'd adhere to that promise. Cato was ruthless, but possessed a kind of battle honor--one that Clove was sorely lacking, she might add. Glimmer was certain that they could work out a plan that would allow her to die honorably while ensuring his survival.

The only question remaining was when and how to tell him. She desperately didn't want to appear weak, and there was still the matter of Clove to deal with. Glimmer may have been Cato's fuck buddy, but his loyalty to Clove ran deep. She was sure that she could turn him against the burgeoning psychopath given some time, but time was the only asset the Careers did not have in abundant supply. She would have to kill Clove, and before the other tributes were slaughtered and the alliance terminated. The girl would be expecting something then, but not before. With Clove out of the way, her goal of keeping Cato alive was all but certain. Only once Clove was gone would she share her plan.

And because time was of the essence, she would kill Clove the very next day.

Glimmer smiled, relaxing into Cato's arms.

* * *

She was having a lovely dream. No Avoxes, no arena, no nothing. It was just her, on a beach, with Cato. She'd never been to a beach before. Only District 4 got to have beaches. But she could imagine it, apparently, and in her dream a beach was absolutely beautiful.

Unfortunately, fate decided that her first good dream since volunteering as Tribute was going to be cut short. There was a crack, and a thwack, and then a gigantic thudding crash.

Buzzing filled the air, and Glimmer was awake in an instant. She screamed as the swarm of Tracker Jackers settled over them, stinging them, surrounding them and filling up every bit of her with their constant buzzing. It was like a thick cloud, only it was alive, and they were overwhelming and all she could do was scream…

Dimly she noted the sounds of everyone else shouting and screaming and running. There was a thud as Mahi tripped, landing on her stomach, writhing and screaming something about "the eyes" and "no air." Glimmer felt herself pulled to her feet, and through the live cloud she could see Cato pulling her along, tugging at her hand. She ran a few feet, stumbling, completely overwhelmed. The Tracker Jackers were stinging, all of them, wheeling through the air like some freakish synchronized insect dance. A tree root was there--why the fuck was a tree root there?--and she crashed to the ground, Cato's hand slipping out of hers as she began to flail in a panic. Then there was nothing, nothing but stinging and stinging and buzzing and flailing…

"Cato!" She screamed. The buzzing wasn't just around her, it was in her, buzzing hellishly through her brain, through her very blood. Everything was shifting around her, the forest zooming in and out of focus, distorting painfully. It was just like her nightmares, only a thousand times worse.

Then the Avoxes stepped out of the trees, and her screams became wordless cries of terror. Every last one of them had her face.

"Cato! Cato!" Her voice was so high and wild she could hardly recognize it as her own. They were closing in, and that fucking buzzing wouldn't stop and her body was flailing helplessly yet felt so heavy, so heavy and she needed him… God, where was Cato? She needed him, please, Cato help please help Cato… Cato…

And then he was there, beckoning to her. "I'm here, baby," he said tenderly. "I'm here." She didn't stop to think about how he was never tender, never like this. She just stumbled towards his open arms.

She fell, her body rocking and tipping over like an ancient, rotting tree. But still Cato hovered in front of her, beckoning gently.

"Come, Glimmer," he whispered. "Come into the light. Come with me."

"Cato…" She couldn't move. She couldn't even speak. She struggled to get up, to follow him, but failed.

"Come," Cato said again, his voice still so gentle.

She wanted to. She wanted it more desperately than anything else in her whole life. Yes, be with him, yes please Cato…

Then it hit her. Maybe she couldn't follow him physically, but there were other ways. Like a dream, slipping away just as you grasped at it.

The light was brighter now, engulfing Cato so that only a dim outline of him could be seen. But it didn't matter. She knew the way now.

"Cato…"

Glimmer stepped into the Light.

* * *

Cato awoke from his nightmare only to find himself in another one. Tracker Jackers, fucking  _Tracker Jackers_ , had somehow found them. Their nest was cracked open right in the middle of them, on top of the dead remains of last night's fire. He scrambled to his feet, his shout of surprise completely involuntary. He grabbed Glimmer's hand, hauling her to her feet. They had to get out; they had to get away…

He ran, the buzzing filling his entire body--it felt like somehow they had gotten inside of him and were buzzing and buzzing and making his entire body vibrate and oh  _fuck_  he was going to explode, just burst from the inside like their broken nest, nothing but a Tracker Jacker-filled shell…

Blind, panicked, he stumbled as fast as he could, following the cries of the others until he was plunging himself into the river, submerging himself completely, and there was nothing but cool, cool water and peace. He was in a world of floating blue and for a moment, he didn't want to leave. Then his feet touched bottom and he pushed up instinctively, bursting out of the water and scrabbling for a rock, hauling himself onto shore.

He lay there, breathing heavily, for however many minutes it took for the dizziness and slight nausea to die down. He hadn't had any hallucinations that he could recall--if he'd gotten them, he'd been too overwhelmed by all that fucking buzzing to notice. Plunging into the river must've helped to counteract it, because other than feeling absolutely drained, he was fine.

Cato slowly raised his head and looked around. Clove was emerging from the water on the opposite shore, pissed as hell and absolutely drenched. Marvel was sitting a few feet away from her, his elbows on his knees and his hands over his eyes. Cato couldn't be sure, but it looked like the guy was actually crying. He must have suffered some kind of hallucination. Koi was on the same side of the river as Cato, kneeling down and splashing water over his face, taking great gulps of air and generally attempting to calm himself down.

One person was missing. Glimmer. Cato stood, swaying slightly when he got to his feet. He looked up and down the river, but couldn't find her anywhere. Where was she? He remembered grabbing her hand and pulling her along with him… why wasn't she…

Then another fragment of memory swam through the fog, hazy but one that he knew was true. A distinctive cry, and the feeling of a hand slipping from his, and a thud… a voice, Glimmer's voice, crying out for him… screaming his name…

_Cato!_

Without another thought, he whirled around and began to run back to the site of the attack. He heard Clove shouting at him from the other side of the river, but he paid her no mind. He had to find Glimmer.

He crashed through the trees, branches whipping into his face, blind to anything except for his goal. His foot caught on something big, something soft and heavy, and he nearly fell. Catching himself, he looked back. Mahi's swollen, mutilated body lay on the ground, twisted at an odd angle. Pus oozed out of some of the swollen mounds on her body. Cato shuddered.

He glanced down at the broken, empty shell of the Tracker Jacker next and the ashes of the fire, and then up at the tree. Katniss was gone. Above the limb where she'd been sitting was a sawed-off branch, and Cato realized what she'd done. She'd set the insects on them.

Cato whirled around, trying to find something, anything, to tell him where Glimmer was. "Glimmer!" He shouted. The air around him was still, thick with a telling silence. "Glimmer!" He repeated.

"Get out of here!" Somebody was yelling, only a few feet away. "Katniss! Get out of here! Go!"

Cato ran towards the sound, his heart thudding, his blood boiling in seconds when he saw what was going on.

Katniss Everdeen was crouched near Glimmer's body, the silver bow and quiver of arrows in her hands. She was staring dazedly at Peeta Mellark, who was doing his best to push her away. Peeta's frantic yelling was an almost comical contrast to Katniss's blank look. She was clearly suffering from Tracker Jacker venom.

But all of that paled in comparison to the fact that they were crouched over Glimmer's swollen, pus-oozing corpse. Cato strode towards them just as Peeta gave Katniss a final shove. The girl finally seemed to get the message, stumbling away, clutching at trees for support like a drunk. It came to Cato in a flash that Peeta really had been leading them astray. Finding Katniss in the river was just dumb luck.

"You fucking bastard!" Cato snarled, raising his sword. "I'm going to cut your fucking head off!"

Peeta whirled, backing away as quickly as he could. Cato continued to advance. "I'm going to kill you," he promised. "I'm going to kill you, so that she knows what it feels like. You'll both know what it feels like! You killed her!" He swung his sword at Peeta but the boy ducked, charging at Cato and catching him around the waist. Cato hadn't expected the teen to fight back and crashed to the ground. With a furious roar, he shoved Peeta off of him, getting to his feet.

"Look at her!" He screamed, pointing at Glimmer with his sword. "You did this to her! You and you fucking girlfriend!" He kicked Peeta in the chest, sending the boy to the ground. He pointed the tip of his sword right at the boy's chest. "I'm going to kill you, and your little girlfriend is going to know it. She's going to hear the cannon, and she's going to see your ugly face flashing up on the screen and she's going to know that it's because of what she did to her!"

"You know what, Cato?" Peeta said. "Go fuck yourself."

Cato brought the sword down, slashing Peeta in the leg. He'd never become a doctor, but he knew how to kill. He'd slashed a major vein in the boy's body--there was no way he was going to make it. He was going to bleed out, nice and slow.

Leaving Peeta to gasp in pain, Cato went over to Glimmer's body. Her beautiful features were obscured and marred by the pus and swollen lumps from the venom. Nevertheless, he touched her cheek with the back of his hand before using two fingers to close her staring, empty eyes. Those green eyes, so full of life and mirth and calculation, now cold and dull, the soul departed.

Cato realized that he had never once told her that he loved her. He hadn't said it when she was alive, and he'd be damned if he'd say it then. Besides, he was a man of action, not words.

He was going to find Katniss Everdeen, and he was going to destroy her.

"You'll never get her," Peeta gasped behind him. Cato turned. The boy was clutching at his leg, his pants and hands so covered in blood it was as if he'd plunged them into a bucket of the stuff. His face was crumpled in pain, but his eyes flashed with defiance. "She's too good for you."

"What are you talking about?" Cato asked, wondering if the kid was babbling.

"Katniss," Peeta said her name like it was the most important thing in the world. "You're never going to beat her. She'll win this thing."

"And why's that? Because she's the Girl on Fire?" Cato taunted. Peeta said nothing. "I can't believe you. You're going to die and all that you can think about is her."

"She's the only thing worth thinking about," Peeta assured him.

Cato didn't bother replying to that sappy, pathetic remark. He turned on his heel and began to stride away.

"You're the one who should be worried, Cato!" Peeta called. "She's going to learn about me, and she's going to hunt you down. And when she does, you'll be dead before you even see it coming."

Oh, Cato wanted Katniss to find him, all right. He wanted a good old showdown. And after he'd taunted her with her precious boyfriend's death, he was going to kill her, too. Fuck Clove and her petty little games--this was true revenge. Glimmer was his, and only his, and she was supposed to stay alive until he decided to end it. She deserved so much better than this. She deserved an honorable death. He'd promised her, and he'd failed her. She was his and he let her down.

He put the tears pricking his eyes down to anger, or perhaps leftover venom, and set out to find Clove and the others.

* * *

 

The next couple of days was mostly a dull blur but scattered with random moments of focus, sharp and clear as glass, almost painful in their clarity. It was like the focusing of a camera mixed with a blinding light. Tributes were hunted and killed. He couldn't sleep at night. He kept seeing Glimmer's shadow in the dark, and when he finally drifted off nightmares of her death replayed on a loop until he woke up, drenched in sweat, undecipherable whispers seeping into his ears. Glimmer's death in these dreams wasn't always accurate--sometimes she'd be dangling from a cliff, or facing off against Katniss in a hand-to-hand battle. But no matter what the circumstances, it always ended with her death, her gaze locked on Cato as she silently pleaded with him to save her. He never could.

The moments that stood out to him were random. The moment that Koi made a remark that rubbed him the wrong way was so sharp in lucidity that it cut. Clove and Marvel had been arguing, and Koi had suggested that they should fuck to get it out of their systems, like Cato and Glimmer. Cato took his head off with the broadsword. That was the only moment of significance. The others were just fragments, like a shattered window, glittering bright and broken in the sun.

The day was clear and sunny--cheerful, even, by a normal, non-Tribute person's standards. Cato lay on his back, arms behind his head, looking up at the blue "sky." He'd never realized how blank and empty a blue sky was. There was nothing, nothing but the same, pale, washed-out blue, stretching on forever. One could float for hours in that blue and never get a change of scenery, until night fell and you were plunged into blackness.

"Cato."

He turned his head, looking up at Clove. She was sitting cross-legged, staring at him. "Here." She tossed him some jerky. He ate it mechanically as Clove watched him.

"You're okay," she stated. It wasn't a question. It was a command.

"Yup," he responded, finishing off the dried meat. "Never better."

Marvel was cleaning off his spear. The thing was already polished, he was only doing it for shits and giggles. That guy had an attachment to that weapon so strong it was practically a fetish. He refused to use any other weapon, and when Cato had wanted to throw it, just to try, Marvel had guarded it jealousy. Cato was quite pleased with the little sword collection he had going but seriously? Even he wasn't that attached to a weapon. That guy had issues.

However, it was Marvel's idle cleaning that brought the smoke to their attention. He looked up to reach for another weapon to sharpen the tip, and the column of gray cloud rising in the distance caught his eye.

"Guys, look!" He punched Cato lightly in the shoulder, pointing. They all looked, even Piston, who'd been sitting with his head down the entire time, terrified that they would notice him.

Cato leapt to his feet. It wouldn't be Katniss--she was too clever to light a fire, especially a smoking one--but there were still the two tributes from 11 lurking about, and the redhead from 5. Plus, they'd never heard the canon or seen Peeta's face up on the dome at night, so he was still clinging to life somewhere. He wondered if Katniss was searching for him, if she was trying to nurse him back to health. It wouldn't do any good, of course. Lover Boy needed the Capitol doctors if he had any hope. Last he'd checked, he hadn't seen a hospital just sitting there conveniently.

He picked up the broadsword. He couldn't wait to see the blood, slick and gleaming upon the metal.

"C'mon!" He gestured to Clove and Marvel. They both hurried to their feet. He pointed at Piston. "Stay. Make sure no one comes around."

They all took off, running towards the smoke, Cato in the lead. He practically leapt rather than ran, bounding through the forest until he skidded to stop in a tiny clearing. The pyre was covered in green leaves, which had caused all the smoke. He looked around. There was no sign of a tribute.

"This has Katniss written all over it." Clove spoke the words just as Cato came to the same conclusion.

"That bitch is probably lurking nearby," Cato spat. Marvel cleared his throat and pointed upwards. Another plume of smoke was rising in the distance.

"What the fuck?" Cato asked. "What's she doing?"

"She's around here somewhere," Clove said, whirling around and around as she peered into the trees on either side of them.

_Cato._

He spun around, sword pointed up and at the ready, but there was no one there. No foe to fight. He frowned. He could have sworn that he heard someone whisper his name. He'd heard the whispers in the dark of the night, but he'd put them down to remnants of his nightmares, the imaginings of an exhausted mind.

_Cato._

He whirled, nearly spinning off-balance, searching for someone, anyone, who could be the source of these whispers. He was alone except for Marvel and Clove.

His senses hummed. A whisper came again, softer than when it called his name.

_Trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble…_

It was cloyingly sweet, this whisper. It sounded like perfume. And it was warning him of trouble? He wondered if his survival instincts were beginning to take on a more humanlike role in an attempt to get his attention. He must be more stressed than he thought. He needed more sleep.

Clove gave him a strange look. Could she see his confusion? Could she hear something as well? Or was she just concerned about him in general?

Cato shook his head violently, trying to figure out what this trouble his sixth sense was warning him about, when a violent  _boom_  shattered the silence into a thousand echoing pieces. He turned towards the direction of the sound.

It had come from the area of the Cornucopia.

He began to run, not giving a second thought as to the how or the why. He just started running. Only one thing could have made such a gigantic explosion: those fucking mines had been set off. Piston better hope like hell that he'd stepped on one, because otherwise he wouldn't live for two seconds once Cato got his hands on the little rat. The others were right behind him, flanking him, Clove's braid whipping around her face and Marvel's spear piercing the air as he pumped his arms.

They emerged from the trees, never slowing their pace. Cato saw the crater and black-burned ground, pieces of what had been their supply pile strewn everywhere. He moved even faster, careening right up to the scene of the destruction. Piston was running over as well, shock and outright terror on his face. Cato approached him, looming over the boy. Where the fuck had this little brat been?

"What happened?" Cato demanded. Piston shrugged, stammering. He repeated himself. "What. The. Hell. Happened," he said, slowly in case the asshole didn't get it the first time.

"I… I don't know. I saw movement and I went to check and…"

Cato reached down, grabbing the boy's head at his chin and behind his ear. He remembered how turned on Glimmer had been, watching him kill with his hands. He twisted the boy's neck. There was a cracking sound and Piston fell to the ground, dead. Cato wanted to kick him, kick the body viciously until nothing was left but a bloody pulp.

"This was Katniss," Clove hissed. Her face was contorted with fury, a gargoyle version of a girl. "Had to be."

Cato's blood was gasoline, the slightest annoyance the match that made it roar into flame. She was going to pay. They were all going to pay for this, every last one of them. They'd killed Glimmer, and now they were trying to get him. He wouldn't let them. He deserved to be victor, for his district, for his family, and especially for Glimmer. No upstart cunt, no matter how fucking clever she thought she was, would get the best of him.

"Split up," Cato barked. "We've got to find her."

Without another word they all took off in different directions: Clove directly ahead, Marvel to the left, and Cato to the right. He ran in what was practically a semicircle around the massive clearing. He eventually reached the deep slope on the western edge that led down into the tall, golden wheat. He'd seen Thresh plunge in there during the massacre at the Cornucopia. They'd have to go in and flush out the big brute eventually, but for now, he had to get Katniss. Cato thought about the best way to kill her. It needed to be suitably painful and drawn-out. Unfortunately, he was never much of a torturer. He was all about getting the job done, which meant as short of a fight as possible followed by a quick kill. He decided to be generous and let Clove have Katniss for a bit. That girl could make people scream like no other, and she'd consider hacking Katniss' lips off or something as adequate revenge. So long as Cato dealt the killing blow, he was all right. He could afford to let Clove have some fun.

He smirked to himself, turning to tell Glimmer, and remembered that she wasn't there. The times when he forgot were the worst, because they only lasted a second--but what a glorious second it was--before he his nerves were plunged into ice-cold water when the truth swooped over him. He saw a blur at the edge of his vision. He spun around, but again, he was alone. Damn it! Was he so desperate to have Glimmer back that he was imagining she was there? He clenched his jaw, his teeth grating against each other. He had to get a grip.

Two canon shots echoed through the arena. Cato's head shot up, and he gazed into the sky despite the fact that it was daytime and they wouldn't show who had died until nightfall. If one of the others had gotten to Katniss and killed her… if it was Marvel, he'd cut off his fucking dick before killing him with his own spear. If it was Clove, he'd settle for hacking off her precious braid or something.

Cato cut across the clearing, heading towards the opposite end of the forest where Clove and Marvel had disappeared. He leaped over the burned boxes of supplies as he streaked past the Cornucopia, entering the woods and dashing around trees. He was so focused that he literally ran smack into Clove, her head cracking against his chest as they both hit the forest floor.

Clove muttered obscenities as she rubbed her forehead. Cato got to his feet, holding out his hand. She took it and he pulled her up.

"Did you cause either of those?" He asked.

Clove shook her head. "If one of them is Katniss, I swear Marvel's going to lose every tooth in his head."

"You can't punch for shit," Cato pointed out as they started moving again--albeit a little more slowly to avoid any more collisions.

"Who said anything about punching?" Clove asked. She waved her knife. "This is perfectly good for prying out teeth. Just ask that kid from District 6."

They stepped through the trees and halted, staring in shock. Of all the things they expected, this was not one of them.

Marvel lay face-up on the ground, an arrow embedded in his heart. Blood had blossomed in his chest, staining his shirt. His knees were bent back, like he'd been kneeling when he collapsed. His spear lay about ten feet away from his body, on the other side of an activated trap. The Gamemakers had put a lot of booby traps in the arena, as one of their favorite little tricks was to have a tribute get caught in it and wait to see what happened if another tribute found them. Clove walked over, bending down to inspect the net.

The trap was some kind of trip-wire thing, entrapping the unfortunate in a large net. Clove held up one end, showing Cato the frayed rope.

"Someone cut it," she said.

"Katniss?" Cato asked.

"Maybe." Clove continued to stare at the rope, her brows knit together as she frowned. She drew the net tight, placing the cut ends of the rope together. She tilted her head. "No…" She said slowly. "This rope… it was cut from the outside. Look at the angle of the blade marks." She indicated said marks. "This angle would only be possible by someone who was cutting from above the net, looking down at it. They placed the knife on the underside of the rope and sawed upwards. If they'd been in the net, they would have placed the knife on the upper side and cut downwards."

"So… wait." Cato frowned. "Someone was in this net, and another person cut them free?"

"You can bet it wasn't Marvel," Clove said.

There was the sound of engines above them, and they both looked up. The hovercraft was there to fetch Marvel's body. The claw lowered, picking up the body of the District 1 tribute and taking him away. Cato watched as the limp body was carried off. The tall boy looked so small when held by that immense metal claw.

Now District 1 had no tributes left. Cato imagined Glimmer's body being lifted like that and nearly choked as bile rose in his throat.

"Did you take care of Lover Boy?" Clove asked. Cato was jerked back to the present.

"Yup." He saw what she was getting at. "There's no way that he'd be in this trap, or capable of setting Katniss free." An idea struck him. "Maybe that other canon boom we heard was him finally kicking the bucket?"

There was a breeze as another hovercraft passed overhead. This one had a body so tiny that Cato could barely make it out. All he could see was dark skin and a miniature hand. Were those flowers on the body?

"Rue," Clove breathed, as if it all made sense. She stood up and went over to Marvel's spear. She picked it up and inspected the tip. "Blood," she announced, waving it at Cato before tossing it back onto the ground.

"Care to share with the class?" Cato said mockingly.

Clove glared. "Honestly, your brain must be made of oatmeal," she said scornfully. "Why is Katniss here?"

"Because she volunteered," Cato said. "She took the place of her sister."

"Exactly. She's stupidly protective--sentimental, even. Look at her and Lover Boy. Anyway, I noticed Rue shadowing her during the training."

Cato couldn't connect the dots. It must've shown on his face, because Clove gave the most exasperated sigh/eye-roll combination he'd ever seen. And he'd been with Glimmer, so that was saying something.

"She and Rue were a team, Cato!" Clove spread out her arms, as if that would help him to understand. "That's how Katniss destroyed the food and distracted us at the same time. Rue must've been the one lighting the fires. She was caught in this trap and Katniss got her out, but Marvel caught them. Marvel killed Rue, Katniss killed Marvel, two down and three to go. End of story!"

Cato could not believe the sheer idiocy of some people. "What is it with her and the whole protectiveness thing? You can't have emotions in the Games."

Clove paced back and forth. "Well, she's from 12. She's a hick. They're all half retarded there anyway. I hear they inbreed."

Cato stared down at his hands. He hadn't been protective of Glimmer. He'd been jealous and possessive, but not protective. Had he?

He felt undeniably guilty about her death. He sought revenge. He would have done anything to ensure that she'd lived. That wasn't protectiveness, was it? The need to stake your claim, to take care of what you saw as yours… that wasn't… protectiveness, that was the stuff of love and light. He wasn't loving, or of the light. He was darkness, the killer, the warrior. He destroyed, and he reveled in it. He didn't feel something as pathetically sentimental as protectiveness. Besides, he couldn't love Glimmer.

It would tear him apart if he did.

"Cato." He looked up. Clove was staring at him like she'd been doing it for a long time. Had she asked him a question that he hadn't responded to? "Let's set up camp."

Cato rose. "Where?"

"Not the clearing or the Cornucopia," Clove said. "That's where they'll expect us to be. Let's go near the field, in the forest."

"Okay," he agreed. It didn't matter to him.

They decided upon the luxury of building a fire, despite the fact that it was down to only the two of them. They'd always built a fire before, knowing that they were a team, and more deadly then any of the other tributes, and could definitely afford it. One tribute against four or five? Yeah, good luck with that.

Now, Cato knew that there was another deadly tribute out there, but he didn't care. He could take her in a fight, and he intended to be warm and comfortable that night. She was probably busy crying over Rue anyway.

They sat on opposite ends of the fire. Cato stared into the flames, while Clove stared at him. He thought that the gold of the fire looked like Glimmer's hair. It certainly twisted and danced about like her locks when she flipped them over her shoulder.

"Cato?" Clove said. The tentativeness in her voice surprised him, and he looked up at her. Their eyes met. "Are we okay?" She asked.

There were a hundred questions crammed into one with that sentence.  _Are you all right? Are we still a team? Are we going to make it? Should I be concerned?_

"Yeah." He nodded. "We're okay."

Clove relaxed, but only a little. "You're my partner," she said. "You always have been. I wouldn't kiss you if you paid me," Cato snorted. "But you're not half bad. We've always been a team, and I want to make sure that we stay a team until it's the final faceoff."

"We will be," Cato assured her. Clove was all that he had left. His parents and home were distant things, shadows and smoke, a promise that might not be fulfilled. Even when he did win, his life would be different. There would be the victory tour through the other districts, and then he would be expected to spend a lot of time in the Capitol. It wouldn't be the way things were, and while the way things were had been a constant building up to this, pressure and training and preparing for the very situation he was in now, he almost preferred it to his current situation.

Glimmer was gone. The thought made him sick in so many different ways--his insides twisted, he wanted to throw up, he wanted to pass out, his head swam, tears (motherfucking  _tears_ ) welled up--and the guilt and shame confounded him. He could hardly bear to think about it, but it was all that he could focus on.

Even the Games held no joy for him now. He was angry with Katniss. He wanted her dead (preferably with her body twisted and screaming), but he'd settle for just plain dead.

That only left Clove. She was just like him--a little too much like him sometimes. She was a killer, a child who had never been a child, harboring a soul as full of dark, violent desires as he was. He suspected that if she could get over her disgust of sex, she'd be totally into the BDSM. He could just picture her whipping someone, or tying them to the bed or whatnot. Personally, the image of Clove doing anything remotely sexual made him a little queasy. She was all that he had left now. She'd been there fore him, through thick and thin. She understood him. Not more so than Glimmer had, but in a different way. They were kindred spirits, comrades-in-arms, bound together by years of training and fighting and working side-by-side. He'd lost everything else, but he wasn't going to lose her. When he did, it would be because he chose to end it. It would be because it was their time to part. Not a moment before that.

His emotions were reflected back at him in Clove's dark, Leviathan eyes. Her pale face was pinched, her cheekbones prominent. She had a very angular face, he noted. Now, in the firelight, she was like a demon. Cato recalled a vague memory, something about how in ancient times--before technology or the supposed United States--there were people who believed you were born with two daemons. One was good, and one was bad. Clove was definitely what most people would define as bad, but she was good for him. She crouched, hunched over the fire, his personal daemon. A demon girl, with a monster of a boy. What a team.

He wondered when the hell he had become so fucking philosophical and contemplative and all that shit. He blamed Glimmer. He made a note to talk about it after they'd fucked later, but before the thought could be completed the truth roared in his ears like a violent wind, and he wondered if this was what the ocean sounded like before he had to bury his face into his knees to avoid letting Clove see his expression. He bit his cheek until it bled, and he tasted the salty iron.

"Attention, attention."

They both looked up, startled. Claudius Templesmith was the official announcer of the Hunger Games, and would host the commentary with Caesar Flickerman. His voice was instantly recognizable. What could he possibly be announcing? What had the bitch on fire done now?

"Attention, Tributes, attention. There has been a slight… rule change. It is now possible for two tributes to win, if those tributes are from the same district."

Thresh and foxy girl from 5 were both without a fellow tribute. Peeta was dying, whether or not Katniss had found him, so that meant…

The moment hung in the air, crystalline and frozen. They stared at one another; hardly daring to believe what they'd heard was true.

"We can go home?"

Never had Clove sounded so young, so tired and hoarse and lost.

Cato opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded.

Clove's grin split her face. Cato's smile mirrored hers and then Clove let out the wildest war whoop he'd ever heard. He yelled out in response, a crazy warrior's cry, and the next thing they knew they were leaping and jumping around, screaming at the top of their lungs. At one point he even picked her up ad whirled her around, the way Glimmer had told her him father used to.

When he set her down, they continued to grin at each other. Clove's eyes were gleaming ferociously.

"We're going home." Cato smiled at her. His partner. His friend.

That night, Cato slept well for the first time since Glimmer's death.

* * *

The next morning they didn't even bother hunting for other tributes. They were too busy celebrating. Cato woke up, refreshed from actually getting a few hours of nightmare-free rest. They sparred, just like old times, Cato with his short sword and Clove with two of her knives. She was a whirling dervish, ducking and dancing about, while he was took a firm stance and held it, slashing and thrusting and parrying with everything that he had, a human storm.

That evening, when they rested after a meal of squirrel (he found that he enjoyed hunting, although Clove's insistence on carving up the animals was something that would have made a lot of people lose their appetite), Cato lay back, staring into the fire. Clove was asleep, looking like a dark faerie as her face relaxed. It was almost perfect.

Then he felt phantom arms wrapped around him, and it was. Whispers of lips ran over his face, from his temple, past his ear and down his jaw line to his chin.

"So close," the whispers said. "So close."

He was so close to victory. He was so close to her, and yet, so far. The whispers solidified into a phantom, only more real in that they were a single figure rather than ghostly words.

Glimmer looked like he remembered her--flirty and calculating and gorgeous. He yearned to touch her, but couldn't. Besides the fact that she wasn't really there, he found that he couldn't move at all. His body had frozen.

Her skin glowed like the dying firelight, but he could still see the stars and the trees through her face. Glimmer brought her lips to his, and he felt it like a kiss of breeze.

"Why are you here?" He whispered, afraid of waking up Clove. She'd probably flip out if she saw this--if she could see this. He doubted she would. All that she would see was Cato as he talked to nothing, and with a massive hard-on to boot.

"I'm here because you want me to be," Glimmer responded. She slowly rubbed against him, and he could almost feel her lissome body against his own. He remembered her supple skin, smooth and flushed beneath his fingers. He tried not to groan.

"You should hate me," he gasped. "I failed you."

"She did this to me," Glimmer whispered. "You did nothing wrong."

" _Fuck_ …" Cato swore. He found that he could move again and slipped his hand underneath his pants, grasping firmly as his erection.

"That's it, baby," Glimmer cooed. She had never called him that, or any other pet name for that matter, in real life. He suddenly wished that she had. If he'd called her something, like baby, would she have liked it? Would she have responded? Or would she have rejected it, calling him sappy and gushy?

Glimmer moved above him, mimicking the movements he was making with his hand. He closed his eyes, letting his head relax into the grass, allowing his imagination to overtake him. It was all so real. With his eyes closed, he could practically feel her passage ripple around him, tight and hot and clenching. The air about him, warmed by his movements, felt like her silky skin. Colors flashed before his closed eyes, and he felt like he could see her in them--the gold of her hair, the green of her eyes, the cream and rose of her skin. All of it, a whirl of colors, tiny dots and flecks that came together like an Impressionist painting, creating a fleeting picture of the moment that was there and gone.

Hot, sticky cum coated his hand, soaking his pants. He was going to have to clean that up in the morning, although he was sure that his pants were now ruined. He had no idea how to wash them. He opened his eyes, hoping for… what? Something. His dream or hallucination or whatever to still be there, curling up against him like she used to? But the night was cold and empty, and Glimmer, whatever she was, had gone.

* * *

"I don't care how strong you are, Cato--Thresh can beat you in brute strength."

"What about Katniss? You thought you'd get your hands on her the first day and look what's happened. She's killed Marvel, and Mahi…" Cato viciously bit off Glimmer's name before it could leave his mouth.

Clove gave him a look that meant she knew what he had stopped himself from saying. They'd been having this argument--that was the understatement of the year, it was a shouting match, really--for hours.

"What we need," Clove muttered. "Is protection. Protection from those damn arrows, from whatever weapon Thresh has…"

"A scythe. He grabbed a scythe," Cato said mechanically. He was pacing back and forth irritably, furiously crushing the grass beneath his feet. "So what are you suggesting, Clove? That we get fucking armor?" He snorted. "Good luck on that one."

"At least I'm trying to think up a solution, unlike you!" Clove spat. "You're so hung up on Glimmer that you can't even–"

Cato tackled her, grabbing her by the throat. "Don't you say it!" He growled. "Don't you dare say her name! You hated her, you don't have the right!"

Clove stared at him in genuine shock. "Cato…" She said slowly.

"Don't," he growled. He failed to realize that he was foaming at the mouth, snorting through his nose like a bull about to charge. "Don't you dare, Clove. You don't deserve to talk about her!"

"Okay," Clove said quickly. When his hold on her neck didn't loosen, she tried again, this time with a slower, more soothing tone. "Okay, Cato. I won't. I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry," he spit, bits of saliva flying from his mouth. "You're not sorry at all." He tightened his grip. "Admit that you hated her, admit it!"

Clove made a frantic, choking sound. "I admit it! Okay! I hated her, you were right! Just stop it, okay Cato? You're going crazy! It's me, it's Clove. We've known each other since I entered the academy--you were ten, remember? I'm sorry, now let me go!"

Cato released her, realizing what he'd done. It was like he'd been underwater, thick, red water that suffocated him and he'd emerged into the air, able to breathe once again. What  _was_ that? He'd just attacked Clove. Clove, his best friend. Sure, they'd been arguing and tempers were always high but that… what he'd just done… that was different.

"I…" He didn't know what to say. "It's my fault. I flipped out. I'm sorry, Clove." He held out a hand to help her up. Clove stared at him for a long moment. The air hung thick around them, the entire forest holding its breath.

Clove took his hand and allowed him to help her up. The world released its breath and began to turn again.

Cato began to apologize again, but the voice of Claudius Templesmith interrupted him.

"Attention! Attention, Tributes! There will be a feast at noon today… you all have something you need, and we are prepared to be… generous hosts."

The two of them stared at each other.

"Armor," Clove whispered. Her eyes gleamed.

"Medicine for Peeta," Cato said. "That's what 12'll need. What about Thresh and 5?"

"The little stepchild needs food, most likely, what with her hiding out like a mouse," Clove said gleefully. "And who knows what Thresh needs."

"This is a trap, isn't it?" Cato said.

"I wouldn't say it's a trap, exactly… more like a chance for us to do battle. They want us all there to get a huge fight going."

"Well, that's right up our alley," Cato said. He felt the rush of battle begin to stir in his veins. "We can get rid of the redhead--she won't put up a good fight--and even Thresh, if we surprise him. Katniss can't move Peeta… I'm surprised the idiot is still alive…" Cato frowned, vicious thoughts overtaking him. While he liked the idea of having Katniss agonize over her boyfriend's impending death, he wanted it over already. "But she'll still come. They need that medicine."

Clove snorted. "Forget medicine--they need a hospital." She frowned. "But it won't be that easy. We'll need to get the armor first."

"But we'll be vulnerable if we're focused on just that," Cato argued.

"Then we split up," Clove explained. "I'll run in and grab the stuff while you patrol the border. Just creep along the forest at the edge of the clearing and intercept anyone. Once I've got the armor, we'll meet up and can go hunt down the others."

"We should grab the other stuff, if it's not too cumbersome," Cato added. No need to give the others a chance to gain the upper hand.

Clove nodded. She seemed almost happy, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. She must have been pleased that he was back to normal.

She bent and gathered up her knives. "Let's go, then."

They headed out.

When they reached the edge of the woods they paused, peering out at the Cornucopia. There was no sign of anyone. They watched as a table, four bags with the letters 2, 5, 11 and 12 on them was raised up from the ground, standing just outside the gleaming golden horn. One, two, three minutes passed. There was still no one.

"I'm going in," Clove hissed. "Go and take a look, find if any of the others are coming."

Clove began to creep towards the table as Cato took off, moving a little deeper into the woods before veering left. Within seconds, the table and the Cornucopia were hidden from view. He wasn't worried. He and Clove could always take care of themselves.

* * *

"Cato!"

He almost disregarded the sound, but then it came again. The voice was shot through with sheer panic, but it was unmistakably Clove's.

Then it came again: a desperate, last minute plea. A last grasp at life.

"Cato!"

He took off.

"Cato!"

He had never run so fast in his life. The blood roared through him, his breath coming to him only in painful, heaving gasps. The forest blurred past, nothing registering with his senses except Clove's scream.

He burst into the clearing. He vaguely registered Katniss Everdeen fleeing the scene, but then he zeroed in on Clove lying in the grass and the rest of the world disappeared.

He dashed over to her, gently cupping her face with his hands. There was blood matted in her hair on one side, and her eyes were glazed. A bloody rock lay nearby, cast aside by whomever had done this to her.

It wasn't Katniss. She would have used an arrow. It wasn't the girl from 5, who couldn't be so daring. And Lover Boy was dying from a leg wound, so that just left…

"Thresh," he choked out.

There was a flicker of recognition in Clove's eyes.

That bastard was going to die the slowest, most painful death the Hunger Games had ever seen. Cato would see to that. But now, now Clove was in his arms and her eyes were no longer glazed but darkening, like the sky as the sun sank into the west.

"Stay with me," he begged. His voice was raw and hoarse, and he could barely squeeze the words past his constricted throat. "Stay with me!"

The light was still fading in her eyes. Stop fading, damn it; stop fading!

"I need you." He was crying now, crying like a baby and he didn't give a flying fuck. "You're all I have left. Stay with me, Clove."

She was struggling to understand, to keep her eyes on him.

"You're my partner. My best friend." He choked a little. "You're my best friend. If I had a sis–"

He couldn't finish. His throat was closed up and there was so much snot in his nose that he could hardly breathe. But that old gleam returned to her eyes for just a second. He was probably hallucinating but he prayed, oh he prayed that it was true. He prayed that she'd heard him, and understood.

And then the light faded.

Later, he wouldn't be able to recall just what he did in the next few minutes. It was as if everything had been sucked into a great, black void. Sound, sight, life itself had no hold, no meaning.

Clove was gone. His best friend, his partner, his soul sister, his rock… She was gone.

* * *

He blinked, everything sliding slowly into focus. The light was beginning to fade, but that wasn't what had managed to break his stupor. It was the sound of the approaching hovercraft.

Instinctively, he got up and stumbled back, gaping stupidly up at the machine as it hovered above him. The distinctive claw came down and snatched up Clove's body.

"No!" Cato dove for her, but it was too late. The claw had begun to rise, taking Clove with it. "Don't take her from me!" He screamed. He'd lost Glimmer. He couldn't lose Clove.

The hovercraft did not hear him, the claw holding the corpse of his partner vanishing into the machine before it moved away, flying up and out of the dome that contained the arena.

Cato sank to his knees, staring up into space. The night sky, no matter how fake it was, was dizzying in its empty intensity. Clove was dead. Gone. Deceased.

He never knew what made him do it, but his first reaction was to reach out into the darkness for Glimmer. He wanted to hold her and be held by her, wanted to collapse to the ground with her and fuck her, slow and steady, crying the entire time. He wanted to  _feel_ , and he never felt better then when he was lying with her.

He could practically feel her embrace, her thin, muscular arms encircling his neck, her head resting on his shoulder. It felt like his heart was being torn into, chunks ripped away bit by bit. These tortuous phantoms, so real and yet so acutely false, close but never quite the true incarnation, were destroying him. Yet they were the only things giving him comfort.

Katniss. Katniss had killed Glimmer. Thresh. Thresh had killed Clove. The two of them, the banes of his existence. They had done this, destroying any hope or joy he'd had. Winning the Games meant nothing, not now that Clove was gone. Only he could kill her.

 _But you could never kill me,_  Glimmer whispered in his ear.  _You could kill her in the end, but not me._

Yes, she was right. He couldn't kill her. Her death, either by his hand or another's, was unacceptable. And she hadn't died well--she'd died screaming, terrified and alone. Katniss was going to pay.

Cato stood. He decided that he would save Katniss for last. She would pay, but first he had to get rid of Thresh. He and Clove were partners, and he should have been the one to kill her. They'd promised each other, and while he could accept her death, he could not accept that death coming by any other's hand but his.

He went to grab the bag and froze. It was gone. Who had taken it? Foxy from 5 wouldn't dare. Katniss? Somehow, he doubted it. That only left Thresh. It seemed like something the boy would do. But no matter who had taken the armor. Thresh would be first.

Cato picked up the broadsword and headed for the sea of wheat.

* * *

It was a maze without paths. It was a moving wall, a smothering blanket of gold. It was a dry ocean, or what he imagined an ocean to be like: soft, moving and rippling gently as the breeze stirred it. It was monotonous, never-ending, and so easy to get lost in.

He was definitely out of his element here.

But he was a hunter, a fighter, and he knew how to find his prey. He moved through the wheat, following the barely-noticeable trail that Thresh had left behind. The teen was from 11, which was agriculture, so he knew his way around a field like this. But Cato knew how to track, and hunt, and kill. Thresh could hide, but he would be found eventually.

And when Cato did find him, there would be hell to pay.

A soft  _shuh-shuh_  sound was all that alerted him before a ferocious yell came and Thresh leapt at him, attempting to tackle him to the ground. Cato dodged and swung his sword at the boy but missed. Thresh held his scythe in his left hand, twirling it expertly. He probably worked with one all day back at home. Now the farming tool had become a formidable weapon.

"I thought you'd stop by," Thresh said, panting. There was no fear or taunting in his voice, only a statement of the facts.

"You killed her," Cato snarled.

"She killed Rue," Thresh stated. "You all did. She was just a girl! Her daddy's pride and joy. You got no idea how much we loved her. Nobody volunteered, but that don't mean we don't love her. And you all, you just marched in here and started killing like you were better than the rest of us."

"We  _are_  better than the rest of you! We were trained for this, it's our right!" Cato shouted.

 _You tell him, Cato,_  Clove said. He could almost see her out of the corners of his eyes.

 _Come on, Cato. Get on with it,_  Glimmer said seductively.  _I'm hungry… and so wet… C'mon, hurry and we can get some fun in._

It sounded so much like her, impatient and teasing and just forward enough to brush the outskirts of brash, that Cato nearly whipped around to look for her. But he knew better by now. He knew that she wasn't really there.

That didn't stop Glimmer, or Clove, from talking.

"Your right?" Thresh looked like he might laugh. "That don't excuse it. We got the same right to fight that you do. We're all the same here."

"It's no use crying over her; what about when it was just the two of you? Huh? What then?" Cato taunted.

"What were you going to do when it was just you and your little friend?" Thresh shot back.

"I was going to kill her. We promised each other a fair fight!" Cato shouted. Why couldn't he make this boy understand?

"And what about the other one? The one who was your girl?" Thresh demanded. Cato didn't hide his shock well. "Aw, man, everybody knew 'bout that. Except for maybe 12. She's not too good at that stuff. But we all knew you were doing it real good…"

"Shut up!" Cato shouted, his voice a lot more strained and hoarse then he'd meant it to be. The worst part was that Thresh wasn't teasing him or baiting him. He was expressing his honest opinion, like they were two guys lounging around a bar or something. It was just surreal enough to be funny. He pictured the two of them, sitting in a Capitol lounge or something. Yeah, it was funny--both weird funny and humorous funny.

"What's so funny?" Thresh asked. He sounded worried. He better be worried, the hulking cur.

Glimmer's voice was whispering in his ear, the same voice she'd used when they were lying together. He could even feel her breath, sweet and hot against his ear.

 _Kill him,_  she whispered, her tone syrupy sweet.  _You can do it. Kill him, Cato. Run him through. Skewer him, my love._

Again with the pet names! He must be going crazy. Glimmer had never called him that, never stooped to it. Yet, at the same time it felt so right, to hear her croon those words at him. He wanted to just sink into her voice, let the words wash over him.

 _Kill him, Cato!_  Clove's demanding voice cut through the fog.  _Spill his blood! Make him scream!_

Yes… do to him what he'd done to her. Make him beg and scream. See how it felt when he was the one on the ground, helpless.

"You're going to die," he whispered. Thresh looked slightly concerned. Perhaps the fact that he could hear voices showed on his face, or perhaps it was just his bloodthirsty grin. It didn't concern him either way. "You're going to suffer for what you did to her." Cato's voice rose in pitch. "You made her scream! She never should have been made to scream! You reduced her to nothing, humiliated her! She should have died a glorious death, and you took that from her!

"It was my right to kill her! Mine! Nobody else's! I promised her that if she were going to die, I would kill her! We were going to fight to the death, and I would have done good by her! Her parents would have been proud! But you, you stupid fucking oaf, you took that from her!"

He chuckled, madness giving it a derisive tinge. He reigned the laughter in before it got away from him. "You're going to die now, and she will be appeased. She can finally stop screaming."

Thresh looked seriously concerned for him now. "Man, you're crazy," he said. "Seriously. Are you telling me you hear her scream?"

"Shut up!" Cato screamed hoarsely. He swung his sword.

Thresh brought up his scythe, blocking the blow. Cato swung again, and again, while Thresh stayed firmly on the defense. Despite his greater weight and muscle mass, the taller boy did not seem comfortable with attacking. Self-defense and Rue seemed to be his only triggers, and without those, he could not take the risk. He was about survival, not murder. Cato had been trained to read his opponents, and what he read in Thresh was that he could not win this. He could flee, but he could not fight, not someone like Cato.

Cato pressed harder, using every trick in the book. This was different from anything he'd ever done before. Training sessions, other kills in the arena, or even fighting his way to claim his right as volunteer--all paled in comparison to this. The arena was freezing, as it was every night, and the cold air rustled the wheat, creating a chorus of whispers. In every stir of the plants, he heard Glimmer and Clove. Glimmer encouraged him, telling him how strong he was, how much he turned her on, and of all the things they were going to do once he was finished. Clove alternated between shouting for him to kill and just plain screaming his name.

The pressure built and built, and still Thresh managed to stay alive. Cato's swings and thrusts became more desperate, and the voices of both girls mingled until they were chanting his name, screams of fear and desperation, cries for his help, last requests for revenge, all mixing and tugging at his mind until he was stretched as tight as a rubber band and close, so close to snapping completely and flying through the air into vast nothingness…

His next swing was sloppy and he missed Thresh's scythe, hitting his opponent's hand instead. The tool dropped to the ground and Thresh recoiled. Fire burned in his eyes as Cato brought the sword down towards his neck. It wasn't the fire of anger, or rebellion. It was pure fire of life, blazing like a star for one glorious moment before it was extinguished, nothing but a black hole in its place.

Cato stood, panting, lightheaded and dizzy from the fight. The adrenaline drained out of him and he sank to his knees for the second time that day, staring at the massive, lifeless body. Now that it was over, the voices had abruptly stopped. The wheat swaying in the air was nothing more, and the shadows that played across the living strands of gold were only his own.

"I did it," he croaked. "I did it, Clove. It's over." His debt was paid, her memory honored. There was nothing more that he could do for her, and nothing more that he wanted for her. If this didn't appease her spirit, then nothing would.

Silence answered him, and it was enough.

But Glimmer was not so satisfied.

She was there, and then gone, like a shadow passing over the sun. "What do you want?" He asked.

 _You._  It was as soft as a cloud, the word carried on her exhale like when they were too tired to move, bodies splayed on top one another, sheets tangled and twisted about their limbs.

Yes, him. He was hers, and she was his. He'd promised her…

Which, of course, reminded him that he'd failed her. There would be no sleep for him that night.

* * *

He wasn't entirely sure how he got back to the Cornucopia. He remembered the canon booming for Thresh, and stumbling at some point, but the only time things became more than a jumbled mesh of uncoordinated images was when he reached the horn of plenty. He gripped the sides at the entrance to the structure, feeling rather unsteady. His legs wobbled, and he'd even have gone so far as to say that he felt drunk.

He staggered into the Cornucopia, moving all the way to the very back of the structure, where the walls tapered and narrowed and he could curl up semi-comfortably. He looked down at the bag in his hands. He didn't remember grabbing it, but it was there, clutched in his hand like it was the most important thing in the world. He tore open the bag and peered inside. He pulled out two shining, translucent body suits. He tossed one of them aside along with the bag. Clove had no use for that now. The other one he held up, trying to make it out properly using the moonlight filtering in from the mouth of the structure.

Cato tossed it to the side. He'd put it on the in the morning. For now, he needed to snatch whatever sleep he could.

That night, his mind decided to torture him not with nightmares, but with desire. Glimmer was above him, riding him, moaning like a two-dollar whore, her large, pink lips parted. Unlike a paid whore, however, her reactions were real. He  _knew_  they were real. He vaguely realized that they weren't on his bed back at the Tribute Center, or in Glimmer's room. They were in his house, in his bedroom. He hadn't spent much time there, since he had a room at the Academy and only stayed at home during the "family days"--breaks about once every two months that lasted a few days. But it was home in his mind. It was where his mother was, for all her lack of understanding about his need to be in the Games, and it was where he'd spent the first six years of his life before being shipped off. He didn't have time to wonder why his mind had brought them here in his dreams. He only had room to focus on Glimmer. She writhed above him, gyrating frantically, and he found himself lost in the sensations. Everything was tinged white, like in those films where people go to heaven, all glowing and ethereal and yet stark and hospital-like at the same time. The faster and hard Glimmer moved, the more that everything glowed, and soon he was holding her against him and thrusting up into her because he just couldn't hold still any longer. This was different, different from any other time, but it wasn't until the world shone in gleaming white and silver like crystals upon snow and his world was washed away in ecstasy that he realized what it was.

He awoke with a start, his hand grasped around his cock, coils of sperm once again drying on his skin, filling his pants.

His thoughts turned to Peeta. He remembered their talk by the lake that one morning, and how he'd practically spat in the guy's face for suggesting that they had anything in common.

 _We are nothing alike,_  he thought despairingly. Peeta knew how to appreciate what he had, to care for what he loved and fight for it with everything he'd got. What did Cato do? Fail. Fail everyone who dared to count on him, to get close to him. Peeta had succeeded in protecting Katniss, at the price of his own life. He'd sacrificed himself to save her, going up against Cato even though Cato was bigger, stronger, and armed. Peeta had done it, and Cato couldn't even manage to keep Glimmer with him, pull her to safety.

Just like that, Glimmer was there, hovering or standing in front of him. The lines around her figure were blurred, and he couldn't see her feet, so he wasn't entirely sure. All he knew was that she was there, and he could see her.

"Just once," he whispered. "Just once, I should have made love to you."

The silent Glimmer in front of him said nothing, only smiled at him. He would have given anything to feel those lips on his again. He remembered his parents and how they were with one another. His father was usually stoic and tough but so gentle with his mother. She relied on him, and he on her. What would they have thought of the lush, manipulative, entrancing tribute he'd come to view as his girl?

They would never know now. He could never tell them. They wouldn't--nobody would--understand. He saw that now. No matter how you trained, how prepared you thought you were… no one was prepared for the Games. They changed you, warped you, brought out your weaknesses and blood thirst like nothing else. How could anyone possibly understand what you went through unless they went through it themselves?

If he told them about Glimmer they would see it as another weakness, a good fuck that he'd allowed to go too far because he was young and stupid. They wouldn't know how warm she made him feel, how safe her arms were, how soft and gentle she felt. They wouldn't see the special, guileless smiles she reserved only for him, or the way her face looked when she came screaming his name. They wouldn't hear the hitch in her voice when she avoided saying The Word, the one he'd also avoided, the one word that described everything and yet would have destroyed them if they'd allowed themselves to dwell on it.

Thinking of her, he drifted into once more sleep.

* * *

He slept late into the day, and didn't move once he awakened. He didn't feel hungry or thirsty, merely lying inside the Cornucopia. He knew he should go after Katniss and Peeta, but he didn't want to move. He just didn't feel a need to go anywhere or do anything. It was all… pale, and unmotivated. Just like the pale blue sky above.

A canon fired about an hour or so after he awoke. He didn't bother crawling out to see the hovercraft. It couldn't be Peeta. They had the medicine--it wouldn't heal him, but it would keep him alive for a bit longer. The Capitol medicine was good but without proper surgeons to stitch up that leg wound, medicine could only do so much. But it would help, and Katniss wouldn't let him die. Cato wasn't anything like Peeta, but he was like Katniss. They both had fire raging in their blood, and they both were hunters, fighters. She had fought her way this far, and she would fight to keep herself and Peeta alive. He vaguely recalled Clove's comments about the girl from 5--including the fact that it must be food in her bag at the Gamemaker's little "feast." She'd spent the entire time hiding from the others. It must have been her. Probably died of starvation.

He spent the entire time just lying on his side, staring at the Glimmer lying on her side facing him. She smiled gently at him, one of those rare, sweet, genuine smiles that he loved so much. He wondered what life would be like after he'd won the Games. He asked her not to blame him if he slept with other women. It would happen, he knew that it would, but there was the physical and the emotional, and the latter would never get involved again.

God, he was so fucking pathetic.

The world started to go dark, and he propped himself up on his elbows, gazing out of the mouth of his metal cave. Glimmer vanished as he got up and donned the armor. His senses were telling him to prepare, and his senses were never wrong. Well, they'd never failed him before, and even though they were on the fritz now he'd spent too many years training them, sharpening them into a fine point until he could use them and control them like any weapon. He'd spent too long depending on them to abandon them now.

So he put on the armor.

It was odd, really. He had no idea what material it was made out of. It was supple and fit tightly, like a second skin, but was so tough that he could stab himself in the stomach and the sword wouldn't pierce it. It gleamed in the dying light, as shiny as any metal--almost sparkly in a gel-like way--but it was the pink-yellow color of skin. It almost, but didn't quite, match his own skin color. It was woven like fine mesh, but was as smooth as… well, he hated to be cliché (but everything else was cliché so why not), but it was as smooth as silk. It was a one piece that he had to slip into, stretching and allowing him to climb into it, shrinking to fit snugly against his skin once he was in it. The mesh pattern allowed his pores to breathe despite how form fitting it was. The suit covered his legs, torso, shoulders and arms, but left his head and hands uncovered. No matter. He could manage just fine in this.

By the time he'd finished putting the damn thing on, it was completely dark out. The Gamemakers were bringing the night on early. What were they up to now? He grabbed his sword, holding it at the ready, and emerged from the Cornucopia.

He heard the pounding of their paws seconds before they emerged from the trees, howling. He did the first thing that came to him and jumped up, climbing onto the top of the Cornucopia. He made it just as the creatures reached him, snarling and pouncing, angry at losing their prey. Now that he was up there he could look down and get a good glimpse of the things howling and snapping at him.

They were Muttations--Mutts for short. Each of them had different colored fur and eyes, but they were all built the same. They were like… like wolves, but slightly more… humanlike? They had massive, four-inch long claws that were wickedly sharp. They were even able to stand on their hind legs, jumping high enough to swipe their upper paws at his feet. He paced in a circle; not daring to turn his back on any one of them for long, frowning as he finally realized what was so disconcerting about them. It was the collars with the numbers of their districts that tipped him off.

They were based off of the dead Tributes.

He saw one with short, dark black hair and Clove's gleaming eyes, and another with tan curly fur like Marvel. But it was the mutt with the emerald eyes and the long, glossy blond fur that disturbed him the most. The eyes were so close to Glimmer's, so matching, that he could have sworn they'd used her actual eyes for it. He felt like vomiting. How could they… how could they…

They did it because they could. Because they were the Gamemakers and this was what they did. They messed with them. There was no glory, no honor in this. It was all a game, a game for a Capitol that exploited them. And he had believed in them the entire time. But this was it--this was the end. The final violation of Glimmer, of her body, this last taunt… it was too much. He knew the truth now. And he knew that he had been doomed from the beginning.

The mutts began to howl and run off, but he didn't dare leave the Cornucopia. They would be back. Sure enough, a minute later there was a pounding and the cries of "Katniss, run!" and "Peeta, keep up!"

The two lovebirds from 12 burst into the clearing. Cato backed away to far end of the Cornucopia, using the tail that curved upwards to brace himself. The two of them were running fast, Peeta at a strange, galloping gait. He managed to somehow reach the Cornucopia first, interlocking his hands for Katniss to step up onto. She helped to haul him up, getting him to safety just as the mutts began to claw at his legs.

Cato put down his sword. He wanted to give Peeta a black eye, first and foremost. The two were standing back-to-back, gazing down in fear at the mutts, unsure of what to do. He went right up to Peeta and grabbed him by the shoulder, whirling him around and punching him. The boy was sent reeling back. Katniss immediately went for her bow, knocking an arrow straight at Cato's chest. It bounced off. She stared, and he could see the thoughts flicking across her eyes as she realized the truth. Never let it be said that Katniss was dumb.

He still hated her, make no doubt about that. But now he could appreciate her as an equal.

Like the night before, he couldn't really remember the fight. He was on autopilot, because he didn't care. He didn't care. Everything that he cared about was beyond his reach. The howling, growling, and snapping of the mutts below filled his ears, and hovering in his mind's eye were the eyes of the Glimmer mutt. So like her… So unreal…

It wasn't until his arm around Peeta's neck that he came back to himself. This was it. This was his chance. One last opportunity to do his district proud.

Blood filled his mouth (Peeta's punches were surprisingly strong), and he felt a trickle making its way down his forehead. Katniss stood, arrow cocked and the bowstring pulled tight. She was aiming for his head.

"Do it," he said, blood spilling out of his mouth and nearly making him choke. "Do it and we both go over." He tightened his grip on Peeta. The teen struggled, his feet slipping as he tried to stand up, his hands clutching at Cato's arms.

"Do it," Cato repeated. "Dead anyway." He laughed, choking again on the blood. "I was always dead; I see that now." He stared into the face of the Girl on Fire--on fire with something, something that could not be put out. Something that, strangely, enabled her to live, to persevere and fight beyond what should have been possible for her to do. She was an ordinary girl. He saw nothing special in her. And yet she survived. She fought, and she won.

"But I can still do this," he said. "One last kill…" He tightened his grip on Peeta yet again. "I can still bring pride to my district."

Peeta made a gurgling noise, and Katniss's eyes flicked over to him fearfully. In all honesty, Cato had thought her part an act. He'd once pissed Glimmer off real good when she'd insisted that she could read people and that Katniss returned Peeta's affections. He hadn't believed her. But now… that fear… that was no performance for the Capitol. That dark panic in her eyes was a physical manifestation of his own fear. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he'd had that same look in his eyes when he'd gone to find Glimmer, and to rescue Clove. Katniss cared for Peeta, and she was absolutely terrified of losing him.

Katniss's fingers tightened on the bow and she turned back to Cato, her eyes narrowing.

"Ah-ah." Cato shook his head slightly. Finally, finally he was going to make her pay. Peeta would die, and Katniss would know pain and loss. The score would be even. He could die in peace--or as close to peace as he would ever get. One quick twist of the neck…

There was a musical  _twang_ , and a sharp pain, like a shard of glass, pierced his hand. He released Peeta in shock, stumbling backwards, staring at the arrow in the back of his hand. The tiny streams and brooks of red sliding down his tan skin strangely fascinated him. He was so fixated upon the blood that he didn't realize how close to the edge he was until he was over it, falling, crying out instinctively, landing with a hard thud on the ground.

The mutts were upon him before he could even get his breath back. They dig their best to dig their teeth into him, even as he flailed desperately to fight them off. Yet their sharp claws and wicked teeth could not pierce the armor. He could feel them--oh, could he ever feel them--but they did not penetrate.

It was torture. Sharp, biting, stabbing pain, dozens upon hundreds upon thousands of seconds, all strung out and stuffed to the brim with pain. They were all over him, all twenty-one of them, and he could hardly breathe for pain. It was nearly unbearable, but he was a warrior. He could handle this death, no matter how tortuous.

It was the eyes that he couldn't bear.

The humanlike features of the other mutts were bad enough, but Glimmer… her honey-colored fur, as long and silky as her hair had been, matted with sweat and dirt as she bit and tugged at the armor-covered skin with her muzzle. Her eyes gleamed with feral hunger, the contrast of animal and human so sharp and terrible it brought tears to his eyes. Saliva tripped from her red, gaping maw as she snarled and growled in frustration. But oh, Lord, those eyes… so close and yet so far to the real thing…

"Please!" He cried out. He didn't care that it was the bitch on fire, he didn't care that Lover Boy was still alive and most likely trumpeting his impending doom. All he could think of was the eyes, the eyes of this awful monster, Glimmer's eyes devouring his soul as her teeth tore him apart…

He couldn't handle it, dear god, oh fucking god please, please kill him, end it, end the torture of seeing her eyes again. They weren't her eyes, it wasn't his Glimmer, it was a Capitol-created damnation and he couldn't take it. Take it all away, just take it all away, please, God, help him!

"Glimmer!" He was screaming nonsense now, desperate, robbed of his growing insanity by sheer terror. "Please!"

There was a slight twang, and he felt something thump into him. It was a dull, quick ache, like a powerful punch right to his throat. But then the punch became a warm hand, soothing him, the touch familiar and welcome. She'd be looking down at him, smiling at him--he could sense it. His bloodied lips mumbled her name.

"Glimmer."

And so the darkness claimed him.

* * *

It's a memorial, now.

No more Games will be held here. A lot of people wanted the former arenas torn down, calling them blasphemous and a bunch of other hateful things. In the end, though, we changed them. They're not amusement sights, anymore. They are a symbol of lives lost. Of innocence stolen, of hope shredded, of will abandoned.

At each sight, there is a memorial wall on top of a graveyard. The bodies of the tributes that fought in that arena lie there, with their names preserved for the ages. I never realized the full scope of the devastation until I saw how many names were on the list.

Tristan, Female Tribute from District 4: 2nd Annual Hunger Games.

Glen, Female Tribute from District 12: 25th Annual Hunger Games.

Largess, Male Tribute from District 9: 32nd Annual Hunger Games.

Rue, Female Tribute from District 11: 74th Annual Hunger Games.

Their terror, their honor, their fight will be remembered forever. There is a short bio about each person. Every bit about them is etched in stone, to be etched in our memories.

It's a bit of a comfort, sometimes. There's a museum of sorts in the Capitol now, with things like the list of all the "special aspects" of the Quarter Quells. There are a hundred different Quarter Quells; a hundred ways to twist the knife in a little deeper. But that museum, although thoughtful, isn't the same as standing there. Walking over the ground that the tributes once tread, realizing that you are right where they fell.

I am asked to oversee the building of the grave for my arena, the one that I fought in. We both go, the two of us. I am not pregnant yet. I am still so frightened. I wake up at night, terrified, dreaming of a child ripped from my arms to be yanked up on stage in front of other silent, frightened children. The fear is greater than my desire for family.

The wall is constructed but not yet in place. It lays on its side in the grass, smooth and polished, the names carved carefully and lovingly. The beginnings of a flowerbed can be seen, the air thick with the fresh smell of soil. I approach the graves cautiously, holding onto Peeta's arm for support. He doesn't say anything, but his presence is more than enough. I cannot believe there was a time I did not see how much I need him.

Peeta was right--I chose the one I could not live without. I cannot live without him. I love him too much.

A medical doctor is standing there, taking samples to ensure that each person is, indeed, the tribute we think they are. Leave it to the Capitol to screw us over one more time with secret graves.

"That's odd," the man murmurs.

I stiffen. Peeta places a soothing hand on my lower back. "What is?" He asks calmly. I can't trust my voice, so I say nothing.

The doctor holds out his DNA device. "These are the remains of a girl--eighteen years old, Caucasian--but there's also other bones in with her."

"She died next to someone?" My curiosity has temporarily overwhelmed my nausea.

The man shakes his head. "Not exactly," he says slowly. "She was… well, I just ran the DNA scan to check…" He swallows, grief overtaking him. "She was pregnant. Only a couple weeks in, so she wouldn't have known it yet, but she was definitely with child."

My throat constricts at the horror of another innocent life stolen away. "Who… who was it?"

I already have my suspicions, but I don't say anything yet. By the way Peeta's hand at my back has tightened, I know that he knows what the man will say.

"Her name was Glimmer Celestine, from District 1."

Peeta's jaw clenches. He spent more time with the Careers than I did. He has most likely figured out who the father was, as well.

It's only later, when we are alone, that he tells me.

"It was Cato, from District 2."

I shudder at the memory of the boy. Cold, angry, deadly… he was born and bred to kill. He nearly murdered Peeta. He nearly took him from me. There was certainly no love lost between us, yet I can't help compare him to Peeta and Glimmer to myself. They were like us. But unlike us, they didn't have the sympathies of the viewers. They were stone-cold killers, not star-crossed lovers. No one would have bought it, have supported it. They were alone.

I wonder if Glimmer was beginning to suspect, if she knew of the tiny being flickering to life inside of her. I hope that she didn't. It would have been unbearable, had it been me. Just the memory of pretending to be pregnant in the 75th Games makes me a little sick.

I remember Glimmer's screams as she died, how she cried out for Cato. I didn't understand at the time. I wasn't even really paying attention. Hallucinations were already beginning to grip me, and I was more concerned for my own safety than the shrieks of a dying girl. If she had known, if she had realized her condition… what would she want? She would want life.

This was what it was all about, wasn't it? The memorials, the museum, the lack of new Games? To honor the sacrifices, the lives lost? Wasn't this about learning how to truly live again?

As long as I remain terrified of the return of the Games, then I am still in the arena. I am still trapped by the Capitol. I will not allow them that pleasure. They cannot take my life, or the promise of new life, from me. They cannot steal my family if I don't even allow myself to conceive one.

That night, I tell Peeta that I'm ready. He looks at me for a long moment before responding.

"Are you sure?" He asks. We've made love several times, but always with protection. He tries, and fails, to mask the hope in his voice. He's wanted this so badly, and has been so patient with me along the way. The hope is killing him.

I nod. "Yes." I take his hands, pressing them, trying to convey what I can't say. "Yes, Peeta. I want this. I want to have your child."

His face splits into a grin, and I cannot help but grin back at him. He is my boy with the bread. He is my husband. He is my flower of life.

He kisses me, soft and sure, pouring his strength into me. It is like good, strong whiskey, warming me up and setting my blood afire with the feeling of buoyant invincibility. If this is what Haymitch feels like when he drinks, then I can understand his addiction. I am addicted to this boy, this amazing, amazing man who, despite all that I have done, loves me.

I bring my arms up to wrap around his neck, tug him down, and pull him closer. He holds me, cradling my chin with one hand and anchoring my waist with the other. He makes me feel safe.

We take our time, mapping out the other's mouth with our tongues, sliding our hands over the smooth skin and feeling the goose bumps that are raised. There are times when we hurry, so turned on that I feel I truly am the girl on fire, burning with need. This isn't one of those times. This is almost like the first time, with the exploration and the tenderness, although there is none of the awkwardness of what goes where and accidental bruising and not knowing what will and won't work.

Peeta seems determined to make this especially good for me. He is always attentive, but now there is not a spot of skin that goes untouched, or a pleasure point that he does not hit. He pleasures me for a long while, reducing me to a writhing, jabbering mess of singing nerves and hazy pleasure. Before he can finish me off, I pull him upwards so that our faces are together.

"You don't have to apologize," I whisper. "I chose this."

He swallows. "We're going to do this. Together."

I nod.

He positions himself above me, but pauses, suddenly unsure. "You want this--real or not real?"

My heart breaks a little, as it always does when the phantoms threaten him. I hold onto him with everything that I have. "Real," I promise him.

He enters me, slow but sure, and soon we are rocking together, rolling towards the end like a stone down a steep hill. Picking up speed until neither of us can control it, moving instinctively, thrusting because it's the only thing left to us. We are moving until we cannot stop.

Then, like a pebble hurled over a cliff, we are dashed against the bruising stones and break, cracking open a pleasure born not just by our bodies but by our hearts. It's something so profound, such an added layer of trust and faith and hope and love, so much love, that I always wonder if anyone has ever felt the depth of it the way we have.

In the dark of that night, my daughter is conceived.


End file.
